


A Time for Everything

by Seldarius



Series: Phryniverse [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Phryniverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: After cutting Miss Fisher from his life, a devastated Jack throws himself into work. But the chase after the killer of a gangster boss gets him into mortal danger himself and Phryne enters a race against time to find her Inspector, uncover the biggest secret of Melbourne's underworld and possibly save her own heart from breaking.





	1. A Time to Mourn

**Author's Note:**

> On special request I have decided to copy over my old fics from fanfiction. This fic was originally posted between Oct 26, 2013 and Nov 5, 2013. It marked the beginning of the rather extensive Phryniverse series.

His hands shook as he slammed the car door shut. In all probability he shouldn't have driven himself here. However, it didn't matter, he had to get through this even if his legs hardly carried him. Hugh Collins greeted him with a shower of friendly, dutiful words that meant nothing right now. Jack lifted his hand in an attempt to fend off his loyal Constables misplaced enthusiasm. „I just wanna see her.“ Everything else was of no consequence. The car looked strangely unharmed for its nightly incident with a tree but the screen had shattered and where the wheel should have been was a formless pile of human covered by a sheet. His heart clenched in the Inspectors chest as he noticed the blood that had seeped through it. It was of the exact colour of her lipstick. Suddenly he wasn't sure anymore if he could get through this. His hand clasped at his mouth, searching for some form of comfort. 'Please, please, let it not be true.' He heard himself beg silently to a god he hadn't spoken to in ten years. It had become his mantra in the last hour since he had gotten the cryptic message of Miss Fisher's crash. 'Please let it not be her.' Probably, god heard a lot of this kind of prayers. Jack had never asked her if she even believed in god. Why hadn't he asked her? Now he would have to arrange her service and he had no idea. Jack tried to remind himself of breathing. No, of course not. Her aunt would take care of that supported by Miss Williams. Mr. Butler would be his usual helpful self and make sure he was just drunk enough to get through the funeral. What flowers did she like? He'd never asked that either. What was appropriate to lay on the grave of the woman you'd loved, but never told her? Jacks heart broke at the thought that he'd never have a chance to sit in her aquamarine colored salon again, drink expensive whisky out of her crystal and ask her what flowers she liked. He would buy her roses. Red ones. People may talk whatever they liked. He returned to the present, felt the tears burn in his eyes dimly aware that Collins was still watching him. The bloodstain on the white sheet stared at him accusingly. He needed to see her, needed to understand that it was true. Miss Fisher was dead. A hundred times he had rescued her from insane killers, from poison, daggers and guns and she would go ahead and die in a stupid motor car accident. The irony of this would have amused her. Jack took his hat off and then a deep breath. He needed to lift this sheet, see her with his own eyes. In sudden resolve his clammy fingers gripped the cold fabric. Jack's knees threatened to give out under him. The woman's face was white, just like the sheet covering it; the red lipstick still immaculate; the blue eyes open; a big bruise had formed across her brow where a trickle of blood had dried on the pale skin. She looked strange, like from a different star but it was undeniably... Phryne. 

Jack awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. The bright moon threw dark shadows over his cold, empty bed. In nights like this one he wished he wouldn't sleep alone. The Inspector dragged old, flat air into his lungs to calm himself. Just another nightmare. The conclusion didn't seem to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks, however. Deflating, he let himself fall back onto his pillow and rubbed a sweaty palm over his wet face. “Real men don't cry.” His father had always said. Turned out, he had been wrong. Jack had shed more tears in the last two weeks than he cared to remember. He also had drunk too much as the empty bottle on his night stand, glittering quietly in the moonlight, reminded him. An act his father would have approved of a lot more. Neither gave him any comfort. He's had an abundance of nightmares ever since the war and it hadn't seemed strange to him that Phryne Fisher had been part of them since he had met her a bit more than a year ago. Their shared cases had led them into many dangerous adventures, often barely escaping their doom. He had regularly dreamed of not reaching her in time, finding her with a slashed throat, Murdoch Foyle standing over her dead body. Sometimes she'd hurt herself on a poisoned book and he couldn't help her, other times she went limp in Dubois' arms with a bullet hole in her flawless skin. But it had been alright, he had awoken, breathed deeply, reminding himself that dreams were just dreams and brushed it off – till two weeks ago. The day his most passionate wish had come true. It hadn't been her there in the motor car wreckage, just some murder victim that he didn't care as much about as he usually would have. He had still stood there frozen to the spot as Miss Fisher had stepped out. Her words had swept over him without really reaching him. Jack had waited for the relief to come but it hadn't. Instead he had gotten more and more angry. How dare she stand there, lecturing him about his job while he had been barely holding on, already picking the flowers for her funeral? A tiny part of him knew that he was being unfair, that she couldn't know. But it hurt that she didn't even seem to understand how scared he had been, how much he was in shock in the face of losing her forever. Miss Fisher just had babbled on about foul play and northern goddesses and he knew he'd answered her, but he had no idea what he'd said. It didn't matter. Phryne was alive but something inside of him, had died.   
That night he had awoken crying for the first time in years. It was as if Miss Fishers faux death had opened the dams in his head and everything had come flooding back. The day he'd found that his best friend had died in the trenches. The funeral of his mother. The day his mentor DI Johnson had lost his job in the force. The look on Rosie's face when she had gotten into the car. The first time he'd buried his knife into the chest of a young German soldier... Every last bitter painful experience was suddenly raw and fresh again. Everything that had taken years to bury beneath his calm exterior was back and he knew it was her doing. During the war he had shut down, built the walls around himself that protected him. Phryne had torn them down stone by stone, exposing him. And yes, he had enjoyed it, feeling the sun on his face again for the first time in, oh so long. But she also had made him vulnerable. The message of her death had shook him to the core, taken his breath away. When he had sat awake that night, sipping an emergency glass of whisky with shaking hands and staring at the half moon hanging in the branches of a tree, he'd understood: He had been fooling himself all along. Somehow, deep down, he'd always believed to be safe as long as he kept his distance, refused to be tempted by her. But a woman like Phryne Fisher didn't wait to be invited. Jack had slammed up his shields as fast as he could manage, had hidden his resolve behind his anger but it was way, way too late. He was in serious trouble.  
With a swift gesture Jack whipped his sheets aside. The hot air in his bedroom was suffocating, the silence deafening. He sat down on the edge of his bed and wiped his tired eyes. There was no point in thinking about it any further. Neither would he be able to go back to sleep. He might as well get to the station and try to wrap his head around the Browning-Case. After all Phryne wasn't the only thing able to give him a headache. Victor and Brad Browning commanded probably about a third of the criminal activity in Melbourne. Cocaine, alcohol, murder, blackmail and ladies of the night. You name it, the Browning-Brothers had their dirty fingers in it. No policeman had dared to touch them for years; even Sanderson, the deputy commissioner and Jacks former father in law, had his troubles getting closer to a solution. That was until three days ago when Victor had been found dead in an alleyway a pattern of stab wounds in his chest that would've made every needle worker proud. And somewhere in his gut, DI Robinson knew that he was holding the thread that would let him finally unravel the network of the Browning Empire. He just needed to find the right angle to pull. Furiously the Inspector brushed his teeth, trying to rid himself of the bitter taste of old whisky. Brad Browning would definitely not be any help at this. He was an arrogant, cold fish. His anger about his brothers death, however, had been real. Something was going on, things were slipping out of the gangster bosses' control and with any luck Jack would find a weak spot to finally shut him down. He dried his wet face and buttoned up his shirt. Right now he couldn't be bothered with a shave; not that his beard had really any time to grow yet. Critically Jack inspected himself in the mirror. A pair of red eyes surrounded by deep shadows, glared back at him. He looked like shit. The Inspector wasn't sure if that was Phryne's fault, the whisky's or Victor Browning's but he definitely needed to find some way to deal with all of this soon, preferably before he managed to destruct himself completely. He had seen good policemen go down before in the clutches of alcohol, often after personal tragedy. He wouldn't be one of them that much he promised himself here, in the dark of the night, before he slipped his coat on and pulled the door shut behind himself. 

The moon dipped the tiny front yard into silvery light when the Inspector stepped out of the gate onto the rocky cobbles and turned his steps towards the City South Police Station. It was still warm even though autumn had set in. Wind ruffled through colouring leaves. In the distance a cat screeched, probably in fight over a female. Other than that it was silent. Till the shot tore the night in half. Jack collapsed where he had been standing, the pain overwhelming. While his hand clutched at his stomach that seeped warm, sticky redness, he had only one thought: Time to wake up. But he didn't.


	2. A Time to Die

When Jack finally did wake up, it wasn't to the desired effect. The pain cut through the fuzzy blackness surrounding him like a knife, before he managed to pry open his blurry eyes. His mouth was dry with the faintest hint of copper on his taste buds. Jack raised his head and tried to take in his surroundings. He was sitting in a chair which was not the obvious position for an unconscious man and a silent hint at the fact that whoever had put him there, wasn't too concerned with his well being. The other indication were his wrists, that were firmly tied behind said chair. The Inspector tested the ropes with the only effect that he further hurt his already aching arms. Whoever had fastened them had not done this for the first time. The policeman shifted in his seat as much as the rope around his hands and ankles would allow him, searching for a more comfortable position. So he had been kidnapped. Shot and kidnapped, the sharp pain in his abdomen reminded him. Obviously the shooter hadn't hit anything too vital or he would not have lived to this moment. But why? Even if he did investigate Victor Browning's death, so far he hadn't found out much. Beside his gut there was little indication that he even followed the right track. The interview with the brother of the deceased certainly had been of little consequence. Brad had denied any connection of Victor with the underworld of Melbourne but had made a point in offering a barely disguised threat to the policeman if he shouldn't do his duty and find the killer soon. However, Jack hadn't taken it quite seriously at the time. Brad Browning had obviously bigger fish to fry than a DI and other ways to punish the killer but by offing a policeman who failed to hunt him down. Maybe, underestimating his own importance to the case had been a mistake after all. The interview with the widow had brought him hardly any further either. Elaine Browning was a beautiful but rather quiet lady that lived in a big mansion atop a hill overlooking the Yarra. The moment Jack had set foot into her house he had felt like he had entered a museum. Every single piece of the carefully picked furniture and decoration was tasteful and expensive, yet, it felt untouched. Aquamarine coloured walls had flashed in front of his eyes uninvited; a yellow and white kitchen; rooms that were danced, eaten, drank and lived in, laughed, chatted, played... He's had to shake himself awake to return to the oversized doll house that Victor Browning had called his home for several years. Elaine had offered him a strong, sweet tea that he had taken thankfully before he had broken the news to her. She hadn't seemed shocked. Upset, yes, but not surprised at all. Of course when you married a drug baron and brothel owner with a horde of thugs and assassins at his disposal, you kind of expected him to get tangled up in the wrong crowd eventually. As you did when you tied your heart onto a lady detective with little fear or restraint, Jack thought bitterly. Heavy footsteps outside in the hall tore him out of his musing. This could get interesting. But they passed the door, vanished in the distance. Jack became aware that he was holding his breath, a fact that his stomach didn't take too kindly. It complained with a new stab of pain. In the dim light that fell through a barred off window, Jack inspected his body. His shirt had been cut open and would've been ruined if that wouldn't have already been accomplished by the dirty brown stain that covered most of the lower half. Underneath, hardly visible, was a thick dressing that obviously contained the bleeding even though there was already a hint of fresh blood seeping through it. Someone wanted him alive. He could only hope that wasn't a temporary state. 

At the same time Miss Fisher wandered aimlessly between her aquamarine coloured walls. Something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.   
“Mr. Butler?” When she turned around her loyal servant had already appeared in the door frame. She was never sure if he actually waited to be called or just materialised a split second before he was needed. However, here he was and maybe his psychic ability could help her along.   
“Mr. Butler, have we had any messages? Calls maybe? Appointments? I feel like I have been missing something.”   
In truth Phryne knew exactly what was wrong. Jack hadn't been here for more than a week ever since he had confessed with tears in his eyes, that he was going to give up on their arrangement. And she had let him go. While it broke her heart she could not change herself for him, bend into the shape in which society would have her. She's had this conversation quite often before with various lovers who'd lost their hearts and hoped that they would be the very one who could tame the untameable. It hadn't been too much of a surprise that Jack had developed feelings for her, but it had taken her off guard that he had no delusions as to their future. And somehow that gnawed on her. It was easier to brush off a man when she had clear ideas what he wanted. She had not the faintest clue what Jack desired from her, only that he would not give in to any of her flirtations and that he had run for the hills as soon as he had become aware of the depth of his feelings. Most of all it surprised her just how much it hurt. Granted, Jack wasn't just a fleeting affair, they shared so much more. They'd been chasing criminals together for over a year; he had been by her side, as she discovered Janey's grave; he had held her, when Dubois forced his way back into her life; he had become her confidante, her friend, her... Here Phryne stopped and waited. The thought that just had flashed through her mind wouldn't come back, but it had been clear as a bell. The polite cough of Mr. Butler brought her back to reality.   
“Miss?”  
“Yes?”   
“Did you hear, what I said, Miss Fisher?”  
“No, I'm afraid I was quite far, Mr. Butler. Would you care to repeat it, please?”  
“You have an appointment at 1 o'clock with a Mrs. Walters... Miss?“  
Phryne nodded slowly. „Thank you, Mr. Butler. Can you please ask Dot to get ready, I think we will go for a ride before luncheon.”  
„Very well.“   
The servant disappeared as fast and quiet as he had come. Miss Fisher didn't pay him any thought. She had to see Jack Robinson. The lady detective had read all about Victor Browning's murder in the newspaper, knew he was involved in the investigation. Phryne had stayed away, trying to respect the Inspectors wish for distance. But nevertheless she knew it was a dangerous lion pit he had walked into and something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

Jack would have been touched had he known that Phryne was thinking of him. However, he was too busy at this very moment, trying to breath. The huge man that had walked through the solid looking door less than five minutes ago had asked him many strange questions in a thick Slavic accent and while he could hardly make out the words, the brute was quite obviously mostly interested in the development of the murder case. DI Robinson couldn't tell him much to this accord, which was, as it had turned out, not the right answer. The punch into his wounded stomach let Jack almost bite through his lip in a hiss of pain. He clenched his eyes shut, gasping for air that just defied his tries to be sucked into his lungs. Red stars danced in front of his eyes. A second voice, this one a lot clearer, called out to the giant and little later the door fell shut heavily. Jack Robinson was alone again. He managed a rasping breath. And there he had believed his week couldn't get any worse, he thought with a tiny, sarcastic smile. This was probably about as rock bottom as you could get. Unless of course... Jack didn't have to look down to realise that his gunshot wound was bleeding again. Warm blood was trickling down his leg and a thin film of sweat had started to cover his forehead. He felt cold. There was no doubt in his mind about it. He was going to die.


	3. A Time to Be Quiet

When Phryne jumped out of her Hispano-Suiza after a refreshingly quick drive with the autumn wind in her hair, she nearly bumped into a young man in uniform. Constable Collins nervously fiddled with his hatband but didn't even seem to notice the pale looking Dot that climbed out of the other side with wobbly knees – a sure sign things weren't going right.   
“Miss Fisher!” He exclaimed without much enthusiasm. Phryne waited. The young policeman generally tended to give himself away without too much prodding given enough time to stew. However, today he seemed in no mood to reveal the newest development in their murder case. Instead he tried to rush away with only a few mumbled words in her direction. Phryne called him back, the authority in her voice having the desired effect as usual.   
“Hugh, whatever is going on?”  
“Miss, I really need to go. Inspector Robinson didn't show up for his shift, I am going to call by his house and find out if he is alright, Miss.”   
Miss Fishers gut twisted. So she had been right. Something was wrong. “It seems a rather strange thing to do for the Inspector to not follow his duties, Hugh. He might have just come down with something but I think we better go and look after him. Hop in, I'll drive.” The cheerfulness of her voice was an act, Phryne felt cold to the bone. But right now, Hugh Collins didn't need to know that. Neither did Dot, who had climbed back into the car obviously content with her fate of being driven around some more. 

X

Only when she stopped the car in front of the neat looking little house Hugh had pointed out to her, did Phryne realise that she had in fact no idea how Jack Robinson lived. He always seemed to be at the station and when he wasn't, he either fell over a corpse or haunted her salon. Never had she even wondered what he might be doing when he was not chasing murderers or sipping Whisky. Time to find out. Rapping enthusiastically at the door showed no effect, so Phryne took her hatpin for help, ignoring the embarrassed looking Hugh.   
“Jack?” She yelled into the house after pushing the green door open. It had an empty feel to it. “The cavalry is here!” She tried again. There was no answer.   
“You two look downstairs, I'll try the first floor” She commanded towards her companions and was already half up the stairs. The rooms were small, neat. A wet towel was the only indication she could find of them being actually lived in. The last door Miss Fisher opened led into the bed room. Dust floated through the air, glittering in the sunlight. So this was how Jack Robinson slept. Phryne sat down at the edge of the bed and ran her fingers over the sheet. He had spent last night here, but not made his bed. It seemed an awkward thing to do for someone as neat as Jack. An empty bottle of rather cheap Whisky also seemed a little out of his character but then again, Jack had been a bit off his game lately. Phryne chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip when her eyes were drawn to an old photograph on the wall. It showed a rather beautiful young lady, adorned in a pre-war fashioned hat and a grinning young soldier. Carefully Miss Fisher peeled the picture from its nail. Dust stained her formerly spotless white gloves. Jack and Rosie. It must have been made shortly before he left for France. And he'd never taken it down. Jealousy was not a habit Miss Fisher had ever turned to, but nevertheless it made her wonder just how much Jack was still attached to his former wife. But right now there was no time for thoughts like this she decided, hanging the photograph back into it's rightful place just as Dot knocked on the door.   
“Miss, we haven't found anything. The inspector seems to have not had breakfast. Unless it was in a glass.”   
Phryne nodded darkly. This didn't bode well.   
“I don't think we will find him here, Dot. Call Hugh, we are heading back to the station.”   
Hardly thirty seconds later Hugh Collins shut the front door of his bosses house with a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach. The fact that DI Robinson seemed to have dropped of the edge of the world, frightened him. Without his guidance he was never quite sure what to do. And while he knew that Miss Fisher and the Inspector had, for whatever reasons there might be, fallen out, he was strangely thankful for her taking the lead in this. Just as he thought this he was waved over by Dot. Miss Fisher was kneeling on the floor with little mind to her doubtlessly expensive frock and inspecting a small, brown stain on the cobbles.   
“Hugh, I think Jack is in trouble.” Her blue eyes seemed to have grown in size as she looked up. “This is blood.” 

X

The very same blood had started to form a small pool around Jacks left foot. The amount in itself wasn't that worrying to him, he knew from experience that humans could bleed quite a lot before they died. But he wasn't sure how much he had already lost in the last night. And he did start to feel a little light headed. So, this was it then? He would die in a basement, tied to a bloody chair with a hole in his stomach! Jack wanted to scream in frustration, ripping with all the strength he had left on his bounds. For a split second his foot seemed to move, then the whole chair rocked and went over backwards. Jacks skull crashed hard onto the stone floor, making him see stars, once again. He feared to black out but his body decided to stay conscious, adding a throbbing headache to the list of things he'd rather hadn't felt. 'Just as well' he thought sarcastically to himself. 'At least I won't be missing my death'. In the same second a thin glimpse of light fell onto him. Footsteps rushed over and for a moment he worried that the brute was back, but those were a lot lighter than the ones before. A woman knelt beside him, gently wiping the sweat from his forehead with her bare hands.   
“God, he's an idiot.“ He heard her mumble as she started to press down onto his gunshot wound. Jack screamed in agony, then bit his tongue as he realised what she was doing. „You better stay quiet, Mister, or I won't be saving your life after all.” The girl whispered as she compressed his wound to stop the bleeding. Jack nodded his aching head slowly. Right now that seemed a fair deal. 

When the Trio returned to the Station it was already abuzz with the news of a missing officer. Miss Fisher didn't bother to talk with anyone but walked straight through the wooden door into Jack's office, sitting down in the DI's chair like she owned the place. Constable Collins had followed her with a nervous look on his face and now stood in the doorway, twisting his helmet.   
“Hugh, I need every information you have on the cases Jack was working on. Especially the Browning-Case.” She waited till Collins opened his mouth, before looking up at him earnestly. “We need to find him. If he's hurt, we might not have much time.”   
Hugh nodded and scurried off to find the requested files. Phryne began to bury herself in the brown folder lying on Jacks desk, quite obviously the last thing he had been working on. Unsurprisingly it had been the murder of Victor Browning. A beggar had found the corpse hidden behind a dustbox, numerous stab wounds to chest and abdomen, many more than were needed to kill the man. Someone had quite obviously sent a message. Per express. But who was the receiver? Probably his brother. It was no secret that the Browning brothers were involved in many 'businesses' around town, even though people only whispered about it behind their hands. The only strange thing the police had found in the alley besides the body of course, was a size 11 shoe with blood on it. But who took off his shoe in the middle of an alleyway after committing a murder? The door flew open; Phryne didn't look up.   
“Hugh, would you, under any circumstances, take off your shoes in this city?” She enquired from the young policeman.   
“Miss Fisher! Of course!”   
Phrynes head flew up at the sound of an angry voice. In the door stood a panting, red faced Deputy Commissioner Sanderson. “And what exactly do you think you are doing here?”


	4. A Time to Search

The woman's hands were calm, soothing. Jack tried not to think too hard about the fact that the blood on them was his own. She had managed to stop him from spilling any more of it onto the floor, which for the moment was a big relief. However, now that he was not going to die within the next five minutes he had plenty of time to sort through all the parts of him that ached or outright hurt. He might have also broken an arm in falling, even though the pain could not compete with his gunshot wound. But the question his head seemed to repeat in a loop was: Why? Why would anyone first shoot and then kidnap him? Wouldn't it make more sense to do the one or the other? And why was one of them almost killing him and the other patching him up afterwards? What twisted game were they playing here? He looked down at the small redhead who was currently changing his dressing.   
“Amber, isn't it?”   
She froze. He had recognized her in an instant as soon as the stars in front of his eyes had faded. A pair of big, dark eyes looked at him in shock.   
“How did you...?” She left the sentence hanging in the air.   
“You served me tea the other day. When I came to see Mrs. Browning.”   
She nodded grimly and returned her attention to his wound. It wasn't surprising that she hadn't expected to be recognized. Servants generally tended to be rather invisible. To most people, not to Jack Robinson.   
“Amber, do you know why I'm here?” He tried again. Her only answer was a shrug.   
“I will get you some water” She said quietly. “Vlady?” She yelled a tad louder. Jack flinched as the giant materialized beside his head. “Help me pick him up, will you?” Amber commanded and two big hands gripped the Inspector with his chair and set him, not too gently, back into an upright position. The two left together for the door but didn't pull it shut completely. Straining his ears, Jack could hear their quiet argument.   
“You nearly killed him, you moron. You know that wouldn't go down well with the boss, now, would it?”   
Indistinctive Slavic mumbling was the answer and Jack gave up on trying to eavesdrop. Right now, what he really wanted was a stiff drink and some sleep. He couldn't see either happening. It struck him as ironic, that just when he had pushed away the smartest woman in Melbourne, he really, really wished she would come looking for him. He let his tired eyes fall shut. Surely, she wouldn't hold onto a grudge when he went dropping off the radar. She was way too curious for that.   
“Miss Fisher? Phryne? I need you to come looking for me. Please.”   
It wasn't even a whisper. Just a silly thought. The coldness of this place was starting to creep under his skin. And he was so, so tired.

Phryne meanwhile was starting to get angry. However, she also felt she was reaching the end of her rope, which made her even more irate.   
“Miss Fisher, you will go home and you will leave the investigation to the police and that is the end of this matter. And consider yourself lucky that I do not arrest you on the spot for sitting in here and reading confident files.”   
Sanderson’s eyes had turned into steel on this last sentence. But if he seriously believed she would back down just because a man yelled at her, he had another thing coming. Shaking with anger Phryne closed the gap between them, stared him down. Sanderson stood his ground. It came as a bit of a surprise.   
“I will do no such thing” She hissed.   
“Constable, please arrest Miss Fisher...” She didn't wait for him to finish this sentence.  
“Jack is out there somewhere. He's hurt. And I will not sit around and wait for someone to fish his body out of the Yarra. Even if you do not like it, I will keep looking for him and it will be a lot faster if you don't insist on standing my way. He might even live.”   
She recognised the flicker of doubt in his eyes before the Deputy Commissioner realised it himself. Phryne understood. He still cared about his former son in law, respected him. Sanderson cleared his throat.   
“So, Miss Fisher, what exactly makes you think that you can find Detective-Inspector Robinson, when the whole police force of Melbourne can't?”   
Phryne just smiled. She had won. A knock at the door made both of them jump. Hugh, who had left the action with a tad of disappointment seconds ago, waved a folder.   
“The coroners report, Miss... I mean Sir.” He coughed.   
“Thank you Hugh” Phryne smiled and took the brown file from the Constables unresisting hands. “Close the door on your way out, will you? The Deputy Commissioner and I have work to do.” 

A splash of water to the face woke him. He must have fallen asleep after all. Torn pieces of pictures floated through his half conscious mind. Many of them looked awfully like a pair of red lips, smiling at him.Two now familiar hands dried him off, wiping grime and sweat off his skin before prying his mouth open and settling a bottle to his lips. Jack drank greedily, spluttered, as the water slipped down the wrong part of his throat. As he ceased to cough and opened his eyes again he found Amber staring at him thoughtfully.   
“You don't look good. Not dying on me, are you?”   
He managed a grim smile.   
“Be assured Miss Amber, I am trying my hardest to avoid causing you any troubles of the kind.”   
She seemed disappointingly unaffected by his sarcasm and instead laid a hand to his forehead. He flinched, her fingers burned with coldness.   
“You're running a fever.” She thoughtfully chewed on her lips. “That's not good, not good at all.”  
“Maybe now would be the time to convince your boss that a dead policeman in his basement is not something to be desired.“ Jack tried. Amber shook her head.   
„I am afraid, this is not going to work.“ She said quietly. „Even if he would care about the word of a maid, my boss will not let you go. You know, as I am assured, too much.“   
With that she stood and shut the door behind her. Jack stayed in frustrated silence before slipping back into feverish dreams. 

“This is odd“ Exclaimed Phryne, flipping for the third time through the report. „Those stab wounds. They weren't bleeding. Almost as if...” George Sanderson looked up from the document he had been studying.   
“Show me” He demanded and all but ripped the paper out of her hands.   
“You're right” He said after a seconds silence, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “All those stabs but this one, have been added considerably after Victor Browning’s death. But how is it possible...”  
“And look at this” Interrupted him the lady detective. “The coroner has also found a considerable amount of arsenic in his blood. Someone was poisoning our drug baron.”  
“Miss Fisher, are you telling me that three people were trying to kill Victor Browning?”  
“It sure looks like at least two were, one successful. And a third wanted to show his handy work. But which of the three is holding Jack?”   
George sighed and threw the file back onto the table in a fit of frustration. A careful knock let Phryne look up from the random folder she had picked up. Constable Collins stuck his head through the small gap.   
“Miss Fisher, there is a call from Mr. Butler. Supposedly a Mrs. Walters is waiting for you at your house.”   
The lady detective made a dismissive gesture.   
“Please tell him to send her home; I will call upon her to make a new appointment once we have found Detective-Inspector Robinson.”  
Hugh closed the door quietly behind himself. He knew better than to argue with Miss Fisher when she was worried. He was worried too. So was Dot, who had decided to stick around and cook tea for the whole station. Knowing her she would probably find a way to magically let biscuits appear too. In Dotti's world a good cuppa could fix just about everything. But Hugh feared that here even her best tea wouldn't be quite sufficient.   
“Mr. Sanderson, do you have any idea why Jack would look into this?”   
The Deputy Commissioner was torn from his quiet musing by the excited voice of this woman that had taken possession of his time with such authority that he suddenly felt, he understood how Jack had resolved to partnering up with her. First he had worried he was wasting his resources, but she was smart – and charming, he had too admit, even if not aloud. But mostly smart. Somehow a tiny hope had grown that they might find his son in law after all. She saw things that others missed. Quite similar to Jack Robinson actually. So maybe, even if she did suffer of delusions of grandeur, it wasn't completely unlikely that she could track him down. Right now she shoved another folder into his face. Reluctantly he took it.   
“Lewis Walters” He red slowly.   
“A young man, died about five months ago. He has been shot in a back alley. The police considered that he might have been into some trouble over gambling, but they never found the killer.”  
“What does that have to do with our missing DI, Miss Fisher?”  
“Nothing.” A certain glimmer appeared in her eyes. “If we leave aside the the fact, that Jack was looking into a murder case that wasn't originally his. Five months after the murder, with the body of one of the biggest criminals of Melbourne in his morgue.”   
“Lewis Walters.” Sanderson read again. “Sounds somehow fami...” Both looked up, locking eyes over the littered desk.   
“Hugh!” Yelled Phryne. It only took seconds for Constable Collins head to appear in the door frame.   
“Please ring Mr. Butler. Tell him, I will see Mrs. Walters after all.”


	5. A Time to Weep

It was just a hunch, a tiny hope. Walters was for sure not an uncommon name in Melbourne and therefore it was highly unlikely, that Lewis and Rosa Walters were in fact related. But as soon as Phryne flew into her Salon with more than unladylike steps, she realised she mustn't have worried. The familiarities between the deceased and what must have been his mother, were striking.  
“Mrs. Walters.” The lady detective breathed and advanced her hand to shake the elder woman’s, still gasping for air from her wild dash home. “My apologies to have let you wait. I'm afraid a rather urgent matter has come to my attention. Please take a seat. I see Mr. Butler has already offered you some tea.”  
The lady, she must have been in her late 50s, nodded slightly overwhelmed by her opposites babbling and dropped back into her chair.  
“Now, Mrs. Walters, how can I help you?” Miss Fisher enquired with the most charming smile she could currently muster, disposing of her hat and gloves onto the love seat.  
Mrs. Walter seemed to collect her thoughts before she finally started to speak. Phryne was counting the seconds. She hoped to god that this would bring her closer to finding Jack.  
“My daughter, Miss Fisher. She is missing.”  
The lady detective snapped into her routine effortlessly.  
“For how long has she been gone?”  
“Well, my son died about five month ago. My little Amber didn't take it too well.”  
Mrs. Walters seemed to choke back a sob and Phryne finally sat down. No matter how much Jack was in danger, right now this woman needed her full attention.  
“She vanished only two weeks later.”  
“But that was back in May, Mrs. Walters. Why didn't you come see me earlier?”  
“Because she has stopped writing. You see, she's written me letters, three every fortnight. She told me she'd started in a position as a maid, which was strange because she always had dreamed of becoming a doctor. Read all the books. Even my late husband couldn't convince her that that was a boy's job. Stubborn girl, my Amber.”  
The loving smile on Mrs. Walters face touched Phrynes restless heart more than she currently wanted it to.  
“Did she tell you where she was working?” She inquired.  
“No, she never mentioned anything of the kind. The letters were stamped in Melbourne so she couldn't have been far, but they had no address on them either. I haven't seen my girl in over four months. And now she's stopped writing.”  
“Do you have the last letter with you, Mrs. Walters? And maybe a photograph, so I know who I am looking for?”  
The elder lady dug through her handbag and produced both. Phryne's eyes flew over the letter. It was of little consequence. Friendly, but carefully picked words, nothing suspicious but in their guardedness more than worrying. The picture attracted her attention more. Amber Walters was a slim, pretty redhead, looking very much unlike both her mother and brother. Only her big, brown eyes betrayed her connection with them.  
She got up with a sigh. None of this really helped her. But maybe, somewhere along the line something would come to the surface. Everything was better than nothing right now even if she clutched at straws.  
“Do you have any thoughts where I could start looking, Mrs. Walters?”  
The elder lady shook her head. “I'm afraid I don't, Miss, or I wouldn't have asked for your help.”  
The two women shook hands, neither of them very hopeful of finding the person they missed and parted ways. 

Jack was dreaming. He knew he must be dreaming because he had never touched her this way when awake. While he ran his palm down her cheek, wiping her tears away, he raked his brain for some soothing words. „Don't cry,” Was all he could come up with; “I'm alive Phryne, I'm still waiting for you.”  
“But your dying.“ She said, matter of fact. He felt himself gulp. Then he smiled a thin, wry smile.  
“You're right. So you better hurry, Miss Fisher.”  
She smiled back, then she faded into white. Other pictures came, bombs hitting the ground around him, soldiers screaming, him falling face first into the mud. He wanted to stay down, just lie there motionless till the noise stopped. But he knew he would die if he did. It was tempting. A hand gripped his arm and ripped him up. He knew it was her, her touch was familiar but he couldn't see her face. Jack felt the anger bubble. Why did she not leave him alone? The night after the accident, the moon hanging in the tree, the amber liquid, his fingers shaking. He had realised two things that night when bad dreams had kept him awake. For one that, no matter how long he denied it, he was in love, hopelessly and way over his head. And secondly, she was too dangerous a woman to be around and especially to be in love with. He wasn't mourning some deadly accident that hadn't happened. The pain in his chest was the heartache that had been coming towards him all along. A tear dribbled down Jack Robinson’s hot cheek, cooling it slightly, or maybe it was just sweat. He felt himself shivering in the cold air of the basement he was imprisoned in. Every single one of his muscles ached. How long had it been? It didn't matter. The Inspector seemed unable to stop himself from shaking. Miss Fisher wouldn't come for him. He himself had told her not to. And today of all days, she would do as she had been asked. Jack wanted to weep. But there were no tears left his body could muster. 

The sun had already started it's descent when Phryne Fisher returned to the City South Police Station. Wordlessly she walked past Hugh who was guarding the front desk and slammed Jacks office door shut behind herself. The glass shook in its frame. Miss Fisher paid it no mind and let herself sink behind the desk that was still littered with a confusing puzzle of paperwork. She added the letter and the picture without any hope they would be the missing pieces.  
“What were you onto, Jack? What made you such a threat that someone kidnapped you or...“ She didn't finish the sentence in her head. The very real possibility that Jack was already lying somewhere in an alley, was not something she was ready to think about. She had set such high hopes in the meeting with Mrs. Walters. And now? Where else could she start? She had three killers and didn't know the identity of a single one, a missing girl, a dead kid... How did it all tie together? 'And where, in heavens name, are you Jack?'  
Deflating, she rested her head against the cool desktop. How could she make sense out of this when she was running out of time? Jack had been shot, stabbed, whatever. He had lost enough blood, it had stained the cobbles. He would be dead before she could ever chase him down in this city. A less strong woman than Phryne would have cried in this moment. Sometimes she wished she was a little weaker. Unless of course... maybe it wasn't Jack whose blood had spilled onto the street. He could have fought back when they tried to capture him, maybe he had managed to injure one of them. In that case there was a slim chance that someone in this town knew about it. Phryne just had picked up the phone to engage Mac's services, trying to find a doctor who might have treated an unusual wound in the last 24 hours when Hugh shoved his way through the door with a full tray in his arms.  
“Dottie thought you might need some tea and biscuits, Miss.” He whispered, seeing the lady detective on the phone. Phryne nodded her approval when she suddenly watched Hugh's face freeze. Slowly he picked up Amber's picture, stared. Intrigued, Phryne dropped the phone back onto the receiver.  
“Where did you get that, Miss? Does it have something to do with the case?” She heard him ask breathlessly.  
“That is a missing girl, Hugh. Name of Amber Walters. She seems to be somehow connected with Jack's disappearance, but I don't know how.”  
Constable Collins face lit up like a Christmas light.  
“I know her Miss, I have seen her.”


	6. A Time to Break Down

Miss Fisher was up so fast, the chair tumbled backwards onto the floor. Neither person in the room paid any attention to it.   
“Are you sure, Hugh? Where was it, please think?   
Collins nodded quickly, his eyes gleaming.   
“I don't need to think Miss, I'm absolutely certain I have seen her. The Inspector asked me to wait in the car but I'm sure it was her face.”   
“Where, Hugh?”  
Her outburst was harsher than she had intended but Phryne's patience was wearing thin. It had been a long day.   
“At Victor Browning’s house. We were there on Monday. To see his widow. It was her, I'm sure. I noticed her hair. You can't really tell from the picture, but you don't see this kinda red often, Miss.”  
The young police man blushed furiously and Phryne reminded herself to never mention this conversation to Dorothy.   
George Sanderson, who had just gotten ready to enter his former son in laws office again after a quick chat with his lads, found himself suddenly confronted with a very enthusiastic lady detective.   
“We finally have a lead. Come along, Georgey, I'll fill you in in the car.” Shaking his head, he followed Miss Fisher. It was not like he really had a choice in the matter. 

On a whim the Deputy Commissioner, who had never in life been called 'Georgey' before, had decided to drive with Miss Fisher and have a second car with a handful of armed officers follow behind. A decision he quickly came to regret as the lady detectives driving style was somewhat of an adventure in itself. However, he swallowed down the yells of disapproval he wanted to utter whenever he wasn't clutching at his door in fear for his life. If she had in fact found someone who could lead them to Jack there was no time to be lost. Collins and Miss Fisher's companion who was, as far as he had understood his sweetheart, seemed to be used to her erratic driving. Besides a hint of green around their noses they appeared rather unfazed. With screeching tyres the Hispano-Suiza came to a halt in front of the Browning Mansion. The butler, an elderly man who was probably not quite used anymore to this much action despite his dangerous choice in employers, came down the stairs, wringing his pale hands.   
“Whatever is the meaning of this?”   
“We need to see the lady of the house on police business. Immediately.”   
Phryne Fisher's voice did not allow any discussion and the elderly man hurried off before Sanderson had even time to get his breath back. He started to understand more and more why Jack was drawn to this insane woman. The other policemen, obviously not quite as adventurous drivers but not the ones to take a challenge lying down either, arrived in this very moment in the driveway.   
Seconds later a small army of policemen, lead by the Deputy Commissioner and a very determined looking Phryne Fisher marched up the stairs to the front door where Elaine Browning was waiting, seemingly more than confused. Sanderson whipped Amber's picture in front of her face.   
“I believe this girl is in your service?”  
Elaine nodded slowly then turned to her butler.   
“Robert, would you please be so kind and fetch Amber from the chambers.”   
With a grace that could not be obtained other than through well breeding, the lady of the house showed the horde of policeman through to her drawing room and offered them drinks, which all of them refused in polite confusion. Phryne stood back near the fire place with Dot and wondered. Did the lady know anything? Elaine didn't seem nervous. On the other hand she could not have been blind to the failings of her dear deceased husband. Nevertheless she had married him and stayed with him as he had risen to one of the most feared men in Melbourne. Finally, Amber walked through the door, followed by the Butler. As she saw the strange collection of uniforms in her employers salon all colour drained of her already pale face. Phryne took the chance to walk up to her quickly before any of the men could interfere.   
“Amber! I have spoken with your mother earlier today. She seemed worried about your whereabouts.”   
The girl seemed confused, but thankful that she wasn't clapped into iron straight away. She very obviously knew a lot more than was to be seen on the first look. Miss Fisher turned to the lady of the house.   
“Mrs. Browning, would you be so kind as to give me a quiet room to speak to Miss Walters alone. I believe this is not meant for a crowd.”   
Elaine hesitated while Sanderson got up. “I would also appreciate a heart to heart with the ladies, Mrs. Browning. If you could excuse us for a moment.”   
Phryne was sure she could handle this on her own but then again, the Deputy Commissioner had been of considerable help. Elaine finally gave Robert a wave to lead the Trio into a small parlour just across the hall. When the door shut behind them, Amber turned around trembling.   
“This is not about my mother, is it?”   
Miss Fisher shook her head.   
“You know very well why we are here, don't you, Amber?”  
The girl dropped her head.   
“The policeman?”   
Her voice had returned to the one of a little girl as she asked the question.   
Phryne held her breath.   
“His name is Detective-Inspector John Robinson.” George Sanderson pitched in. “And you need to tell us where he is”.   
The girl stayed silent, didn't even look up.   
“Amber, have you seen him?”   
No answer. Sanderson seemed to get close to the limits of his patience, too. He looked like he wanted to shake the Maid. Instead he tried a threat.   
“If Jack Robinson dies because you failed to tell us where to find him, I will make damn sure you will hang for it.”   
Now Amber's head flew up. In her eyes was a sudden spark that Phryne knew. This was the wrong approach to get to this girl. She lay a soothing arm on the Deputy Commissioners arm. 'Please.' Her eyes said.   
„Would you mind to leave us ladies alone for a moment, sir? Just a little chit chat between girls.“ Sanderson threw her a look that could have killed on the spot, but nevertheless he drew back to the door and shut it heavily behind himself. Phryne returned her attention to the the young woman in front of her.   
“Amber. I've really spoken to your mother earlier today. And she really is worried what has become of you.“  
The girl nodded, her jaw clenched. Miss Fisher took her hand in her own. Amber Walters let her though she didn't seem to approve. Phryne tried for as soothing a voice as she could manage despite the terror that she felt. She was losing too much time.   
“I know you lost your brother. And believe me, I know just how much that hurts. I wanted to kill the murderer of my little sister.“ At this Amber's eyes widened in shock, something that Phryne sorted away for later inspection. “Jack is my friend. I care for him deeply and I don't want to lose him. Please, Amber, if you know anything, you have to tell me.” She watched the emotions fight on the young Maids face. Now she could only hope that compassion would win this battle. 

Jack drifted out of his dreams again. The little light that fell through the window told him that the sun was setting outside. Had it been only one day though? He couldn't tell. He was thirsty, it seemed years since Amber had fed him water. His head also seemed to be glowing and have doubled in size. The Inspector tried to lick his dry lips but even that hurt. He heard voices outside, wanted to yell out for someone. Even if it was 'Vlady'; maybe he could at least end this. His whole body was on fire. Jack managed a whispered „Help“, but didn't get any further. The door broke down with a crash and people poured into the room. He must be hallucinating after all. Her blue, worried eyes were suddenly in front of him, her cool hand on his forehead. Yells were exchanged, some angry, some worried, some relieved. Jack cared about none of them, just about her hands stroking his heated face.   
“Miss Fisher? Whatever took you so long?” He tried a smile. Then he faded into blackness.


	7. A Time for War

Birdsong was the first thing he noticed. Jack would always remember that. For 19 long hours he had been quite sure he would never hear a bird sing again. Of course, he wasn't aware of that in this very moment. Only that they sang and that it was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. The autumn sun fell onto his shut lashes, accompanied by a light breeze, carrying the smell of the ocean. He felt a presence, heard the quiet swish of her skirt as she moved busily along his bed side. He kept his eyes shut till she sat down and replaced the cloths to his forehead. Even though he could not imagine her to believe for a moment that he was still asleep.   
“Are you feeling better?” Asked the soft voice belonging to the woman at the edge of the bed.   
Jack's eyes opened in shock.   
“Rosie?”   
The word was out before he could stop it, not hiding his surprise. But his former wife just smiled kindly.   
“I thought you might not remember a lot of the last days, Jack. You were quite out of it, under a rather bad fever I'm afraid. Father took you in after they found you. He thought you would be safer here than in a hospital.”   
“Safer?” He asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. DI Robinson seemed at this point in time, not able to string a coherent sentence together. He decided to blame it onto his exhausted body.   
“Yes. Father is on the war path against the Browning Clan, I'm afraid.” Rosie sighed theatrically. “And I am informed your Miss Fisher is quite involved in this battle.”   
Jack shook his head in disbelief and pulled himself upright, trying to ignore the pain in numerous body parts. He could in fact recall very little about the events of the gone days. Miss Fisher had saved him, that was about the last he remembered. And if he was honest even that seemed more like a fever dream. However he had ended up in Sanderson's house, it had to be her fault. Dropping him into the caring hands of his divorced wife seemed just like one of the cruel little games Miss Fisher would be playing on him. What a shame he could currently muster neither the strength nor the anger to hold a grudge against her.   
“You seem still quite out of it. Get some more rest.“ Gently Rosie's hands pushed him back down into the pillows. He nodded tiredly.   
“Thank you, Rosie.“   
“Of course, Jack.“   
She smiled as she walked away. Her former husband was left alone to his spinning thoughts. Why on earth was he here? What 'war path' had Rosie spoken off? And of course, Phryne would march in the front line as usual. Suddenly he was wide awake. With a movement that wasn't quite as swift as he desired, mostly owed to his aching body, Jack crawled out of his sheets and helped himself to some clothes from the well stocked cabinet. George would forgive him. He needed to find out what was going on. 

The house positively swarmed with policemen. Some of them tipped their hats at him as if he were some kind of war hero. Supposedly being tied to a chair for a few hours did the trick of winning those peoples respect, more so than 20 years of thorough police work. The Sanderson's loyal butler, a middle aged man with a friendly face, did his hardest to bring some kind of order into the chaos even if his efforts were doomed to be futile. When he saw Jack coming down the stairs in what had to be described as a little painful dance, his face lit up. They had always gotten along. What a shame that you couldn't keep the family around when your marriage fell through, Jack thought in a flash of regret.   
“Inspector Robinson. So good to see you back on your feet. I trust you are feeling better?”   
“Indeed, Mr. Bell. I have hardly ever felt so good in my life.”   
It was a blatant lie, but the Butler understood and grinned in a way that Butlers generally didn't. Jack liked him all the more for it.   
“Mr. Bell, would you care to tell me where the Deputy Commissioner is currently busying himself. I would rather like a word with him.”   
The butler showed him through to the dining room, where a horde of important looking men in grey suits with matching grey hair had collected around an expensive antique Indian table to discuss the fate of the city. Jack heard her voice before he could see her.   
“...you must agree that it is the time to set an end to the terror the Browning brothers have brought over this city. They have recently wounded and held captive one of your own, without any regard to his health or well being. A man who has done his duty to this city and may I remind you, this country for many years. Surely you cannot dismiss that Detective-Inspector John Robinson almost died in the basement of the Browning Mansion?”  
Phryne Fisher looked like a very exotic bird in midst all the dark suits. Jack hid half behind the door, watching her face twist in restraint anger as the Commissioner explained how his kidnapping could have just been a plot purely planned by the two servants he had been in touch with. He understood, why she fought, how frustrated she must be, but he couldn't help but smile in his hiding place. Phryne was probably the one woman in the world who would drop her rescued hero onto the next bed and run back into the battle, with her usually carefully hidden knife in the one and her pearl handled pistol in the other hand. No, she hadn't nursed him back to health but maybe, sitting down here, trying to get some justice for his captors showed just as much affection? As if she had read his thoughts her eyes searched him out. A tiny smile played around her mouth.   
“Gentleman, I believe it is time for luncheon. We will continue our little chat in two hours time.” With those words she got up and swept out the door in her stunning red suit, leaving the leaders of the city for silence. Jack didn't stand in the door anymore but Phryne was sure he had understood her message. She headed towards the terrace, hoping to find herself a refreshment when he appeared in front of her. She faked surprise.   
“Inspector Robinson, how lovely of you to join me.”   
The playful tone in her voice was matched by the sparkle in her eyes.   
“Miss Fisher.”   
Gallantly, he offered her a glass of champagne and his arm before leading her outside. The warm, salty wind still whispered in the trees. Phryne drained her glass in one gulp and disposed of it before they left the terrace. She had longed for a quiet moment with Jack to regroup and stirred him down a path into the park area of the Sanderson Estate. An attentive observer would have noticed the occasional policemen who even here, hid in the bushes. And Jack Robinson was a very attentive man. Phryne and George must have caused quite a stir to the underworld of Melbourne for this to be considered necessary. Miss Fisher seemed to feel little concern about the danger in which she must have walked the last few days. Jack was in a good mind to ask her if her household was save, but refrained from it. With all her attitude, Phryne was not a careless woman. The people she loved she protected with everything that was her.   
“How are you feeling, Jack?”   
Of all the people that had already asked him this today, Jack got for the first time the impression that someone was asking him an actual question. He took the time to consider an answer.   
“I'm afraid that about every muscle in my body is aching,” He offered; “I am positively exhausted and also incredibly relieved. I am, however, also somewhat worried.”   
At this he stopped and turned to face her. “This 'War' that George is leading, with your considerable help I'm sure, is dangerous, Miss Fisher. I hope you are aware of this.“   
The expression on her face became guarded. He half expected her to defy him but she stayed calm and serious.   
“Believe me, I am well aware of how dangerous those people are. They almost killed you.“   
He made a dismissive gesture which to his surprise, seemed to anger her more than anything.   
„Don't you dare brushing this of. I will never forget how we found you. You had bled half to death, your wound was infected, you were hallucinating. I won't even start about bruises, cracked ribs, concussion, or your arm, that you managed to half twist out of it's socket.”   
Absent-mindedly Jack rubbed his aching shoulder. Miss Fisher seemed to have run out of steam and stayed quiet, panting in righteous anger. When she spoke again her voice was not much more than a whisper.   
“Mac wasn't sure if you would pull through, Jack.”   
He stared at her, lost for words. In her blue eyes glittered a mixture of rage and tears. A flash of a dream appeared in front of the Inspector. He started to lift his hand to run it's palm over the pale skin of her cheek.   
“And if I can do anything to make those people pay for what they have done to you, I promise I will hunt them to the end of the world!” She growled a quiet vow. The steel in her voice let Jack take a step backwards. The moment had passed. He dropped his hand back to his side and resolved to gather his wits.   
“I believe Miss Fisher, we already are at the end of the world.”   
The tiny smile accompanying this sentence seemed to diffuse her anger somewhat as she took his arm again.   
“That should make things a lot easier then, shouldn't it.” She asked, letting her guard drop. He noticed it with relief as they continued their walk through the park in unusual silence. Only the birds sang in the trees. 

When Miss Fisher returned to her goal of whipping the grey men of the city under her spell, Jack decided it was time to get back upstairs. The little adventure through the park had taken more out of him than he cared to admit. Just as he had peeled himself out of Georges suit and was slipping back into his Pyjama pants, the door swung open. “So, what exactly do you think you are doing?” A female voice asked. He looked up, then down at his hands that were still holding the top of his sleeping clothes.   
“Drop it.” Dr. MacMillan commanded. Jack did as he was told.   
“Go and lie down, I gotta have a look at your stitches.” She continued, very little concerned with the fact that she was standing in the bedroom of a half naked man. Of course, given her profession and sexual orientation there was little for her to be worried about. Nevertheless, Jack felt a hint of red covering his cheeks. He was prodded for a while with experienced hands in silence. Obviously Mac was happy with his progress. He was sure to have been yelled at some more, otherwise.   
“You shouldn't really be out of bed yet.” She finally said conversationally while testing his arm. “Not, that I expect any man to listen, who spends as much time with Phryne Fisher as you do.”   
A smile flashed over her serious exterior; if Jack had blinked, he would have been sure to miss it. “You gave her quite a scare, too.”   
More prodding. Jack couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this conversation than the obvious.   
“Wouldn't leave your side, till you had pulled through. Then she went on a man hunt for every damn criminal in this city.”   
The doctor let go of the Inspector and picked his pajama shirt from the floor to throw it to him. “Actually, don't think I ever seen her in this state before. Over a man, I mean.”   
Jack gaped at her, then dropped his eyes with a small, embarrassed grin on his face. Subtlety was not Dr. MacMillan's strong side. Probably not a quality to be expected of someone, who spent as much time with Phryne Fisher, as she did. Jack buttoned up his pajamas in silence, while she collected her instruments, then lay back down, his head full of thoughts. As Mac went to the door, he felt, he needed to say something.   
„Thank you.“   
The redhead turned around, slight surprise widening her eyes, that she hid quickly.   
„What for?“  
„Saving my life. Amongst other things.“   
She nodded slowly, rubbing some lipstick from the edge of her mouth in an embarrassed gesture.   
„My pleasure. You better make use of it.“  
And with that, she was gone. Alone, the Inspector pondered her words for a while. Suddenly he knew exactly, what had to be done.


	8. A Time to Gather Stones

Miss Fisher was drinking her morning tea in bed, accompanied by a newspaper whose front picture didn't seem particularly flattering to her. Dot was running a bath that made her whole bedroom smell heavenly of lavender.   
“Do you think I'm making a mistake?”, Phryne asked her companion out of the blue, dropping the paper onto the sheets. Dorothy Williams pondered the sudden question only for a second. She bit her lip. Then she shook her head.   
“No, I don't think so, Miss. Nobody should be standing over the law, no matter how rich or influential they are.”   
Phryne nodded in agreement.   
“I'm sure your right, Dot. But it is dangerous. For all of us.”  
Her maid had busied herself again with a white, fluffy towel. “I always knew what I'm getting myself into, Miss Phryne. I still decided to stick around. So did the others. Including the Detective Inspector.”   
She didn't put particular weight onto the last words. But Miss Fisher knew Dot long enough to understand the hint. She wanted her employer to drop the guilt about not having found Jack earlier. Or having prevented his capture to start with. Phryne sighed and picked up her papers again. If only it was that easy.   
A knock at the bedroom door let both ladies look up. Mister Butlers head appeared.   
“A visitor, Miss.”  
He was gone before Phryne could ask just who would have the cheek to disturb her this early. It had to be important. Suddenly her day was looking up. Maybe there was some adventure to be had, rather than trying to beat some sense into a horde of old men. 

When Miss Fisher slipped down the stairs in anticipation and a casual pair of silk trousers a mere 15 minutes later, she was in for a surprise.   
“Jack?”  
The man who looked up at her with warm eyes, had not yet shed his coat. It was a different one than he usually wore she noticed in a flash. Of course, his overcoat with the orange lining would have been lost in the incident. It was a shame, she had always rather liked it. The Detective Inspector gave her a light nod.   
“Miss Fisher.”  
“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be lying in bed, drinking tea or something of the kind?”   
She had by now arrived in the hall. From close distance he looked even paler than she had remembered.   
“My doctor would indeed have me there, but then again, she does know I have been under bad influence of late.”   
The wrinkles around his eyes when he bantered with her, were exactly the same as they used to be. It came as somewhat of a relief. Phryne had feared they might have managed to break more than his ribs in this basement.   
She took his coat, against all social standards and showed him through to her Salon where she gestured him to take a seat.   
“So, how did you escape the clutches of your wife then, Inspector?”   
“My former wife, Miss Fisher has in fact taken a vow once to obey me. Not that that has ever stopped her. However I believe Rosie was quite glad to be relieved of her nursing duties, so she could return to her fiancè, who I am sure would have sorely missed her by now.”   
He didn't miss the cheeky grin around her immaculate red lips, before she returned to business. “Tea? Or rather something stronger? Whisky perhaps?”   
“Thank you, but no. I'm afraid I came to you with a business proposal.”   
Intrigued, Phryne sank into a chair.   
“Continue.”  
Jack licked his lips, trying to find the right words.   
“The Browning Empire. I do not believe it to go down through the little battle, you and the Deputy Commissioner have started, Miss Fisher.”   
He looked at her intently, then cut her off, as she opened her mouth. “I talked to George this morning. Many of the influential people in this city are worried, about their businesses, their children, their wives. The Brownings won't just take you shutting their pubs and raiding their brothels lying down. And you have no evidence, that Elaine or Brad Browning had anything to do with my kidnapping.”  
“We found you in her basement, Jack!”  
“In the basement of the servant quarters”, he corrected her. “And I have not spoken to anyone but Amber and her big friend there.”  
Jack felt the anger radiating from his opposite.   
“Surely you can not believe that two servants, just out of some imaginary personal grudge, decided to keep you prisoner in their employers grounds, Jack.”  
He took a liberty and grabbed her hand, running a thumb over its back in soothing circles while focusing on her eyes. Her heavy breathing settled somewhat.   
“No, of course I don't believe that for a second. But we have no prove. As things stand, Amber and 'Vlady' will go to prison and if he isn't careful, Sanderson might go down with them. He is on dangerous grounds. Commissioner Thomson doesn't believe in what he is doing and George wouldn't be the first policeman to be sacrificed for politics.”   
Phryne pulled her hand back and got up. Jacks eyes followed her as she wandered the room. She would have to see the sense in his words, he was sure.   
“Miss Fisher, I think you and I have seen enough war in our life time, don't you? This is neither you nor me”, he tried, when she just kept pouncing wordlessly. She stopped still.   
“So, what do you propose? That we let them get away with it?”   
Now Jack pulled himself up, a hand pressed to his sore stomach.   
“You know me better than that, Miss Fisher. We have four killers to catch. And if one of them should happen to listen to the name of Browning, so be it.”   
His brows arched as she looked at him in surprise. Then they both shared a smile. 

Amber looked up with a slither of hope, when the heavy key turned in the lock of her cell. She nearly hadn't recognised him. The girl breathed out a sigh of relief. The fact, that the policeman who had almost died under her hands, hadn't only pulled through but looked rather well, let a rock drop off her heart. Behind him, half hidden, as if to protect her from all bad that could be lurking in this cell, was the woman she had spoken to when the police had arrived. Once again, she was wondering just what the connection between those two might be. She wasn't police, that much was obvious from her expensive hat and coat. Amber has had a lot of time to think lately. And also a lot of time to dream. Somehow the handsome police man and the well dressed lady who had almost been shaking in worry for him, had made a beautiful couple in the fantasies that had coloured in her hours in this grey cell. And here they were. Together.   
“Miss Walters. We would like a word with you.”  
His voice shook her out of her musing. Surely they weren't here to satisfy her curiosity about their relationship. She nodded and got up, brushing the dust off her maids uniform in a futile attempt to clean up. The corridors of the City South Police Station were long and dark. Finally the Trio arrived in a small room, where she was shooed to a rather hard chair at the table. Both of her interrogators kept standing, the woman busying herself near the window, him leaning against the wall, facing her. The young woman swallowed heavily, waiting for the harsh words that were inevitable.   
“Amber, let us be very clear here. I do not like being tied up, shot or beaten...” the policeman started. Her head dropped to face the table. “...but then again, I neither enjoy being taken for a fool. I do not believe a minute that you planned my capture.”   
In surprise she searched for his eyes. He was now leaning over the table, both palms flat to the wood. “In fact I rather think that I would not have lived through this experience without your help, Miss Walters. And since that is the case, I would prefer to lock up the people who are actually responsible. But for that we need your help.”   
The lady let go of the window and sat down on the table, laying an open file in front of Amber, that showed the disturbing face of her dead brother.   
“Let's begin at the start, shall we?”, she said, in a gentle voice, trading a look with her friend. “What did Victor Browning have to do with Lewis' death?“


	9. A Time to Kill

Amber collected her thoughts for a minute. She was not sure, if she could believe their words, but then again, it was hard to not trust someone whose blood you have had on your hands and who still cared enough to not let you rot in prison unheard. She decided to grip her one chance at freedom with both hands. Her brother Lewis had been a gambler, she explained, losing more money than he could make in his job as a dock man.   
“He asked Victor for money, more than once. He told me.”   
“How did Lewis know him?”, the woman prodded carefully.   
“They were childhood buddies”, Amber explained, “back when he was just a dirty little kid, like the rest of us. Even back then he was a bully though.”   
She all but spat out the last sentence.   
“Lewis thought, he was the answer to his prayers, when he showed up again. Let himself be drawn into this crap.”  
“What 'crap', Miss Walters“.   
The Inspector had sat down.   
„Little 'jobs' they did together. Threaten a woman here, beat up a young kid there. Nothing major. But Lewis didn't like it much. They fought. Often. The night Lewis died, I saw them drinking in a bar together. Victor wasn't happy. Three hours later, my brother was lying behind that bar with a bullet hole in his chest.”   
The silence was disturbed only by the angry humming of a fly that had taken the wrong entrance.   
“So you believe, your brother was shot by Victor Browning?”, Miss Fisher asked.   
“I do not believe that, I am sure he did it! Victor was never the kinda gentleman gangster his brother would have liked to see him as. He fought dirty and himself. None of this assassination shit. If Victor didn't like you, he wouldn't walk away. He'd put a knife between your ribs and then walk.”   
The unkempt red hair fell into Amber's face as she spoke, reminding Phryne of a very angry Greek goddess. She nodded.   
“So, why didn't you come see the police?”   
The girl laughed bitterly.   
“No offense, but the police is shaking in their booties when the name Browning is whispered. They wouldn't have done anything but told me to stay quiet. So I went and became a maid at the Browning Mansion.”   
„Victor didn't recognise you?”, Phryne asked, rising her eyebrows.   
“He hasn't spoken to me since I was five years old. I have changed quite a bit since then.”   
Miss Fisher nodded, taking in the now grimy, but pretty face with the big eyes and the indeed unusual shade of hair colour. Hugh did have taste in the women he looked at closer and thank goodness for that.   
“What were you hoping to achieve there?”, Jack asked into the break, while worrying about the answer.   
“Anything. Finding some evidence. Finding a way to kill him...” Amber raised her jaw in defiance. Phryne let this set before she asked.   
“Have you succeeded? In killing him?”   
The girl bit her lip in a nervous gesture. She seemed to think. Phryne and Jack shared a nervous glance, before both of them looked back to Amber, who pulled a strand of copper hair behind her ear, exposing a fading, but distinctive bruise on her neck, before she answered.   
“I don't know.” 

When Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson withdrew to his office to sort through what they had just found out, they're enthusiasm had worn off. Jack let himself drop into his chair, groaning in a mixture of pain and frustration. He didn't miss the look on Phrynes face that bore the question if he was alright, before she returned her attention to the case.   
“So, if Victor has killed Lewis Walters, that is one murderer down.”  
Jack rubbed his tired face with both hands. His stomach wound was playing up again, a fact that he wouldn't share with Phryne just yet.   
“And if Amber in fact did kill Victor Browning, that is two. And neither of them brings us closer to shutting down the crime in the city”, he finished her thought with a sigh.   
“Well, what do we know? He caught her sniffing around, tried to strangle her and she stuck a knife into his chest before collapsing”, she recaptured what they had just heard from Amber. “But how did he end up in an alleyway half across the city with a chest like a Swiss cheese?”   
The door flew open, whoever demanded entrance didn't seem used to knocking. Elisabeth MacMillan breezed in, waving another file in her hand that she slapped down loudly in front of the pair.   
“I have news, kids”, she said, pausing for a moment to give them time to close their mouths.   
“I looked over the coroners report, as you'd asked me to and there is no doubt about it. Victor Browning was stabbed repeatedly, but only one stab wound was there before his death.”  
“I'm afraid we already know that, Mac.”   
Phryne couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice.   
“Yes, you do. What you don't know is, that he didn't die of that though. The knife was deflected by a rib, really didn't get very far and definitely hasn't had a chance in injuring anything that could have killed him.”   
“So, Dr. MacMillian, what did he die of?”, made Jack an attempt to shorten the banter.   
Mac grinned happily.   
“My money would be on the arsenic. Enough to kill a horse and an Elephant.” 

The middle aged man charged through the room like a wild bull. Elaine couldn't help but feel amused. Not many people got to see this part of him. And with nervous sweat pouring down his doubtlessly expensive three-piece, Brad Browning was not quite as scary as the public saw him. The murderous sparkle in his eyes however, let her take a step backwards.  
"What the hell were you thinking? Now we have the whole damn police on us", he spat and returned to his wild pounce around the room. "Why on earth did you kidnap a policeman? Everybody knows you don't poke a hornets nest! And then of course it had to be the DC's son in law. How stupid can you be?"  
Elaine Browning calmly took a sip of her tea, before she answered.  
"I wanted to know how much he found out", she said.  
"You could have just asked", Brat snapped. His sister in law got up and wordlessly handed him a glass of spirit, fixating him with steel grey eyes.  
"Ten minutes later he wouldn't have been able to answer questions anymore", she said quietly. "And now drink this and calm down, for heavens sake. The two kids will take the fall and the DC will calm down. He's getting too much pressure."  
Brad Browning drained the glass in one go. "Don't you worry about Sanderson", he growled, patting his pocket, "I'll take care of him myself."

 

Ten minutes had gone past since the change in their case and the first excitement had left only silence. Mac sat in a chair, quietly reading the coroners report for what must have been the 15th time. Phryne had taken her usual position on the desk, inspecting her gloves in the most bored manner. Neither of the three knew what to say. Finally Jack dropped the pencil he had been playing with.   
„Alright. So arsenic should be incredibly hard to track back to anyone. About twenty people were serving our victim food and drinks every day. And by now every cup would be washed and every food rests disposed of. So unless someone watched him or her stir the poison into his tea, there won't be any...” He stopped mid sentence.   
“The tea...why did I not think of it earlier? Collins?”   
The young police man rushed into the room.   
“Sir?”  
“Fetch Amber Walters from the cells, will you? And while your at it, bring Vladimir Bazarov to the interview room as well. On second thought, take Jones with you.”   
Only after the Constable had hurried off he noticed the two women, that were staring at him in equal confusion.   
“I paid Elaine Browning a visit after her husband died to break the news. That's when I met Amber for the first time. And I noticed the tea was served sweetened and with lemon, neither sugar nor milk offered. That seemed rather unrefined hospitality for a high society lady like Mrs. Browning.”   
Mac yawned.   
“Well thought, Inspector. With the slight flaw that arsenic is almost tasteless. Why would she use sugar or lemon? The tea would have already been quite sufficient to disguise the taste.”   
Phryne hopped off the desk.   
“Maybe Elaine is just a very careful murderess”, she offered happily. “Anyway, I intend to find out. Anyone with me?”


	10. A Time to Speak

The giant that had taken seat beside Amber in the interview-room, didn't seem overly happy to see Jack again. The feeling was mutual. The Inspector caught himself instinctively raising a protective palm to his stomach, a small gesture that was also duly noted by Miss Fisher. The throbbing pain that had begun again while they had been pondering about Mrs. Browning's poisonous habits, started to make him feel ill. A gentle hand pushed him onto a chair before he could mutter as much as a word of protest. He could feel Miss Fisher standing right behind him, watching his back.   
„Miss Walters, we have some good news for you. The knife wound you inflicted on Mr. Browning, was not what killed him.”   
“Oh...”, was the only answer, the Detective Inspector got for the time being. He watched intently, as the emotions played out on the maids face. She slowly shook her head in disbelief.   
“But he collapsed, right in front of my eyes. I couldn't feel a pulse. I should have... I should have noticed, he wasn't dead.”   
Jack's neck tingled, when he heard Phryne's calm voice.   
“I believe, he was dead, Amber. But you didn't kill him. We have grounds to believe, that Victor Browning was poisoned. Which might have been a struck of luck for you”, she finished on an afterthought, her eyes brushing over the strangle marks on Amber Walters neck.   
“What we are now here to inquire, Amber”, the Inspector interrupted her, “is, if you or Mr. Bazarov have noticed anything suspect in the last few weeks. Possibly some change of eating or drinking habits, someone behaving strangely, handling a medicine bottle, asking you to visit a chemist on their behalf, anything out of the ordinary?”   
Amber pondered this. Then she turned to Vladimir and whispered quietly to him. Both shock their heads in unison.   
„Im sorry, but neither of us have noticed anything strange. As far as poison goes, anyways. The Brownings were rather strange people to start with.“  
Inspector Robinson's eyes searched out Vladimir Bazarov's, whose face was unreadable. The anger about the brutal treatment he had taken from him, still bubbled quietly under the surface and also a smidgen of fear. It took him all his strength to hold his gaze and stay calm.   
„Could you please repeat your discoveries aloud to us, Mr. Bazarov.“  
The giant hung his head. Amber felt the need to pitch in.   
„I'm sorry about him, Inspector. He doesn't like to speak. His English is very bad and he is ashamed I believe. I think that is partly why he...” She trailed off.   
“Why he what?”   
Miss Fisher was leaning forward over the table, her eyes demanding to know what exactly had happened. She could sense the tension between the three people in the room and felt like an outsider. Needless to say, Phryne Fisher didn't enjoy being kept out of the loop. Amber got the hint.   
“My mistress, Mrs. Browning. She sent Vlady to find out what the policeman knows. He didn't quite understand, what was asked from him. And the policeman...” she gazed at Jack “...didn't understand him either I believe, so he... punched him...”   
Her voice had gotten near impossible to hear on the last words. Phryne nevertheless understood. She pulled herself up to her full height and returned to her spot at the back wall, locking her arms over her chest. Jack Robinson didn't need to look around to know that his friend was steaming in her rage right now. He couldn't blame her either. But this was not personal, this was business. He took a deep breath.   
“Miss Amber, if your friend can't answer himself, can you please tell him, we'd appreciate any help from him.”  
Both servants had noticed the sudden change in climate in the small interview-room and both seemed eager to spill everything, they could come up with. Hasty words were exchanged.   
“The' arguwed”, Vladimir offered finally.   
„Vlady heard Mrs. Browning arguing with a man the night before... before he kidnapped you.“   
„What man? Was it Brad Browning, the brother of the deceased?“  
Amber shock her head. „No, an older man he said. Important...” More whispering. “Important looking. He wanted the policeman dead, our Mistress didn't agree. She wanted to find out what he knows instead.”   
Jack nodded slowly. That explained a lot.   
“So they decided to shot me first and ask questions later?”  
“I not shootin' anyone”, Bazarov insisted, hastily spilling more impossible words to Amber's willing ears.   
„She sent him out that night to break into your house and capture you. But when he arrived, you were lying in the street. Shot. Mr. Important had been faster.“   
Jack gnawed on his lip. The pieces fell into place. Elaine Browning had an accomplice and they couldn't agree on what to do with him. But why did they feel he was such a threat? What was he missing?   
Miss Fisher cleared her throat.   
“Before your return to your cell, Amber, I have another question for you. The Inspector has noticed that the tea he was drinking at your house was already sweetened, when you served him the cup. Was that an unusual occurrence in Mr. Browning's house?”  
The girl seemed confused but also relieved about the sudden change in subject.   
“No Ma'am. We were under strict instruction to always serve tea with honey and lemon. A tradition from Mrs. Browning's Russian ancestry I believe. Though it was a little strange...“  
„What was?“  
„I once looked through the office, trying to find out more about, you know... and I found the marriage certificate. And Mrs. Browning's maiden name was 'Rose'. That didn't strike me as very Russian, Ma'am.”   
“Thank you Amber. Constable.”  
After Collins had returned the two prisoners to their cells, Miss Fisher sat down besides the Detective Inspector, resting her face in both palms. Her distress was coming off her in waves, but Jack didn't dare touching her.   
“So, Mrs. Browning might have used a faux Russian ancestry to explain, why she let her tea sweeten. To disguise the arsenic”, she said, without looking up. The strain in her voice didn't go unheard, but again, Jack had nothing, no words of comfort would come to him.   
“Miss Fisher...”, he tried.   
“Don't”, she said simply, “let us solve this case.” She rubbed her hands over her skin, then took off her hat and threw it onto the table, returning to her usual bubbly self in the snap of a finger. With a cheeky grin, she sat down at the edge.   
“Lets just assume, Elaine Browning had resolved to poison her husband. Maybe he wasn't fulfilling his marital duties anymore or she simply grew tired of being married to a psychotic killer and drug baron. She lovingly adds a sprinkle of arsenic to his tea, getting the whole household staff to serve sweetened tea to everybody, to disguise her murderous attentions to her spouse.”  
Jack shock his head.   
“That doesn't make any sense. Why pretend to be Russian? She would have to hide her motives from her husband and he would surely know that he has married Elaine Rose, not Natasha Scruzchov.”   
Phryne pondered. “Rose, Rose...that name does ring a bell.” Then her face lit up in understanding. 

Just a few rooms away, Amber tried to make herself comfortable on the hard surface of the plank bed. The Maiden uniform was starting to itch and she was hoping to god, she hadn't got lice from this place. Her head was going through the interrogation again. While a little part of her was still wondering just who the lady was, the bigger amount of her brain was busying itself with the question if she would be charged. It had been a relief, that Victor Browning hadn't died through her hands, but she still had helped in holding a policeman captive. In retrospect she couldn't help but wish she would have followed her instinct and gotten help, but the cold, hard truth was, that she was scared. Elaine Browning wasn't a woman you wanted as your enemy. An unhappy grunt from the floor ripped Amber from her musing. Vlady tended to make that noise, when he was thinking hard.   
“Yu belief, I should telll police?”, he asked quietly.   
Amber shrugged her small shoulders.   
“Probably.”   
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.


	11. A Time to Refrain

DI Robinson had lost his office. Or at least his chair, which would have been quite an interesting experience, wouldn't it have been for the fact, that he really, really needed to sit down. The pain in his abdomen had grown with every hour he spent on his legs and he had to admit to himself, that he started to feel rather dizzy. Even though, he enjoyed watching Miss Fisher in what she did best: Piecing together puzzles. He could follow as far, as that she had once known a Russian lady, that had lived down the street from her in Collingwood, “dirt-poor like the rest of us”. And that this unfortunate girl, who had worked as a maid somewhere unspecified had gotten herself in the family way. So far a tale he had heard a hundred times. It often ended with a dead girl, found somewhere in an alleyway after having tried an illegal abortion. He nodded, trying his hardest to not fall over. Phryne was too busy to notice, her eyes glittered.   
“But, then the story became interesting. Because three month after Anna Varaboyov had a little girl, whose father she would not name, even under her families heavy interrogation, suddenly Harry Rose, one of the most infamous bachelors of Melbourne, showed up and married her.”   
“Sounds like someone had a guilty conscience”, Jack stated dryly.   
“I doubt that. Following the rumours he left plenty of illegitimate offspring all across Melbourne. He also suddenly seemed to have miraculously escaped his financially, lets say strained, situation. It caused quite a stir back in the day. And now guess, what the name of the baby girl was? Elena Marina.”  
“So Elena Varaboyov became Elena Rose and later on Elaine Browning. Interesting story, but how does that help us?”   
“Therein lies the question, Jack. I propose we find out.”   
She hopped up and gathered her bag from the chair, stopping only inches in front of him. He could smell her perfume, mixed with the warmth of her skin. A pair of blue eyes seemed to look right through him.   
“Hugh?”   
“Miss Fisher?”   
Jack was still too lost in the pair of eyes watching him intently, to turn around to his Constable. He swallowed hard.   
“Please take Inspector Robinson to his home to get some rest and make sure, he stays there.”   
Her words broke the spell.  
“That won't be necessary Collins, I am quite able to take care of myself.”   
She lay a soft hand on his arm, still holding his gaze.  
“Jack, I need you to go home and lay down. It has been a long day for you and it shows.”   
“I am fine”, he lied.   
“Please.”  
That word from Phryne Fishers mouth was too much to defy. Jack took his coat and hat and let himself be escorted to the car. On the way to the door, he turned around.   
“Take some of the lads?”, he asked. Phryne gave him a bright smile.   
“Don't worry, I will be careful.”   
He knew her well enough to recognise the blatant lie. 

x

An urgent knock on the kitchen door let Dorothy Williams spill milk all over her hand. She really had gotten jumpy since Miss Fishers fight against the Browning brothers was all over the papers. Using angry words she would have to confess to her priest on Sunday, Dot wiped her hands onto the colourful apron, she was wearing and looked up. Beside the hat clad head of a young police officer, another familiar face showed through the window. Dot pulled the door open.   
“Miss, do you know this lady? She insists, that she is your sister”, the Constable said, his hand still in iron grip on the shoulder of the woman, just in case she should turn out to be a crazy assassin, who would run knife wielding through the kitchen any second. A sigh escaped the maids throat.   
“She is, Constable. Thank you.”   
She pulled Nell through the door, before the officer could make any more comments and shut it into his face.   
“What are you doing here?”, she asked, returning to making tea.   
“I am happy to see you too, Dot”, Nell said sarcastically and stood, her arms crossed, against a counter, watching her sister with a smidgen of hurt.   
“Hardly the time for a social visit, with police all around the house”, Dot stated, setting the table for two.   
“Well, I'm not here to eat your biscuits and braid your hair, sis.”  
Dorothy turned around to look at her sister. She looked pale and sweaty. Like she had been in a rush.  
“What is it then?”, she asked, finally offering her a chair. 

x

Jack Robinson sat heavily down on the edge of his bed. He hadn't even taken his coat off yet, but he already felt the urge to leave again. It touched him, that Phryne would try to protect him, but he didn't need protection. What he needed, was to shut the Brownings down. It was strange. He had never seen himself as a man, who thirsted for revenge. Even in the war, he had never forgotten, that the kids he shot at, had wives, mothers, children at home. This resolve hadn't done his conscience any good, but it helped him to stay human. A murderer wasn't just a murderer, he was a human being that had been driven to kill by something. Over the years he had become good at looking for those reasons and therefore for the killer. Being on the receiving end of brutality however wasn't an experience he could easily detach himself from. Not only because his bruised and battered body reminded him painfully of it.   
Reluctantly, the Inspector slipped out of his shoes and coat, before lying down on the covers in an attempt to be sensible. Miss Fisher was right, he was in no state to run around chasing after a gangster boss. Even though part of him was deeply opposed to the idea of taking orders from her. Jack stared at the ceiling, trying to busy his mind with something other than wondering if she would be save. Miss Fishers wild dashes through crime investigations without any regard to her survival, had more than once infuriated him. His mind flipped back to the morning he had stood in front of the crashed motor car, convinced in his mind, to find Phryne in the wreckage. It seemed a long time ago now. Phryne Fisher would never be a careful driver – or detective, he was well aware of that. And he loved her all the more for her ruthlessness. She had a liveliness to herself that he was drawn to, like a moth to a flame – and likely with the same fate. Live was one thing he missed sorely. Jack's eyes focused on the room he was lying in. His house had felt dead for years, a doll house of his own. He hadn't felt at home here since Rosie moved out, maybe longer than that. He'd hardly ever spent more time than he needed to.   
Sighing, the Detective Inspector got back up and slipped his shoes on. As he walked down the stairs, Constable Collins rushed out of his living room, a half eaten sandwich in his hand and from the sound of it, the rest in his mouth.   
“Sir, where are you going?”   
“I will pay a visit to my former family-in-law, Collins. You can return to the station if you like. I will find my way home on my own, I'm sure.”  
Jack used the time Hugh needed to swallow, to head out the door. He could hear the young Constable follow him into the yard and yell after him.  
“But Miss Fisher said...”  
Detective Inspector Robinson turned around with a barely disguised smirk on his face.   
“Constable, I don't know if you are aware of the facts. But Miss Fisher is a private detective. We do not take orders from her.”   
Before Collins could find his breath to answer, his boss was gone.


	12. A Time to Give up as Lost

Miss Fisher found herself lacking. She was dearly wishing for company. Jack's relapse had been unfortunate, his timing awfully inconvenient, but usually she could solve cases without him. Nevertheless she missed their conversation, the chance to bounce her thoughts off him. She also had quickly dismissed the idea of picking up Dot on her way to the registry office. Currently spending too much time outside their heavily guarded house, was not a risk a nice girl like her should be taking. And the young police man that accompanied her for good measure hadn't turned out to be particularly chatty, though he had helped to open doors for her.   
“There you are”, the elderly man, who seemed just as dusty as his working place, finally stated, pointing at a small shelf.   
“Birth registries in September 1903.”   
He took the first folder out and blew on it, coughing in the resulting cloud.   
“Seem to be rather popular lately. I already had a visit from the police about this, just this week”, he conversationally added. Miss Fishers ears prickled.   
“Do you remember who it was?”   
“Oh, of course. Not too many visitors here, Miss. It was two officers, a younger one, very eager and one a bit older, looked like he'd been through the wringer lately.”   
Phryne nodded and filed the information away in her head. She had to ask Collins, just what they had been looking for. Most likely it hadn't been Elaine Rose's ancestry.   
With gloved hands she picked up a random folder.   
“Thank you, Mr. Pinner, your help is very much appreciated”, she smiled, when the elder man wouldn't move. He nodded back and scrambled away through the long, dark rows of shelving.   
Phryne started to flip through the old papers. They didn't seem to be in any particular order, other than by date. It had been a rather lucky strike, that she could remember Elena Marina being born just days before Janey's 7th birthday.   
Names and dates brushed past her unnoticed, till she suddenly stopped cold. A gloved finger flipped back to the last page.   
„Lewis Walters“, she said aloud to herself. „Well, I guess that explains, what you were doing here, Jack.“   
The Constable, who stood with a bored look on his face a little while off, chose to ignore her tendencies to chat with imaginary detectives.   
„Sorry Miss, were you saying something?“   
Mr. Pinner had shown up down the row, looking eager to help out at the slightest wave. He really must not get alot of visitors.   
„Mr. Pinner, has anyone else wondered about those files? Besides our two police men?“, she heared herself ask on a hunch. He only pondered for a second, his grey nose hair vibrating in anticipation.   
„Yes Miss, another man. The important kind. He was very curious, about what the police was up to. Said he wanted to know what his taxes were wasted on this time. He also tried to take a page with him, but I noticed it and asked it back. He said it to be accidental, but it struck me as quite strange. He suddenly was in a big hurry. too.“  
„So, you still have the page?“, Phryne asked, holding her breath.   
„Of course Miss, I had locked it up, was just bringing it over for you.”   
He extended a hand with a worn piece of paper, that the lady detective took very gently from him.   
„Thank you, Mr. Pinner. You were very helpful“, Miss Fisher mumbled, looking at the birth registry of one Elena Marina Varaboyov.   
„So lets see, what Mr. Important was so worried about.“ 

x

“Oh”, said Rosie Sanderson, when she opened the door to her former husband. It was not the most refined of welcomes. She collected herself in an instant though.   
“Jack. How good to see you. You look so much better, too. Please do come through.”  
The Detective Inspector followed her into the hall, where a maid took his hat and overcoat from him. With amusement he realised that Rosie was just as uncomfortable as he was. It struck him as weird, that someone, who once shared your bed could become such a stranger through a piece of paper.   
“This is a nice house”, he said, looking around. “I did not quite find the time to appreciate it the other day.”  
“Yes, father decided to relocate. The idea of dead women on his Persians didn't seem to sit too well with him.”  
“That's understandable.” Jack swallowed hard. Where to start?  
“If you were looking for him, I am afraid he has gone to see the Commissioner for afternoon tea. Still trying to convince him about the dangers of brothels in this city I believe.”  
“Actually Rosie, I am here to speak with you”, Jack said and took an offered seat. Her curious eyes fixated his. Nervously he twisted his hands.   
“I wanted to thank you for taking care of me. It must not have been easy on you or your fiancé.“   
Jack watched the emotions playing out on Rosie's pretty face, the confusion, the pride, the hurt. He really did know her too well. Finally she opened her mouth.   
„Sidney understands, Jack. When you marry a divorced woman, you marry a history. You are still family. Father thinks so, I know. I think he still wishes, we would have worked it out.“ At the last sentence she looked down at her hand. Her wedding band had been replaced by a sparkling ring lately, as Jack noticed with a quiet twinge to the gut.   
„I'm sorry I failed you, Rosie.“   
His divorced wife looked at him, searching for truth in his eyes. He let her. This conversation was long overdue.   
“I always wondered if I could have done anything to make you return to me. The real Jack”, she said after a while of silence. He pondered this.   
“War takes a lot out of a man. It took too much of me.”   
Rosie nodded slowly, her hair whipping gently in the movement.   
“That's what I've been telling myself for the last ten years, Jack. But you have changed lately. You got that sparkle in your eyes again, that I just could not find any more.”   
The Inspector felt himself slam his shields up. He didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. After he cleared his throat, he decided to change the subject.   
“Rosie, the reason I actually came here today was to inform you of a decision. It was very generous of you, to leave our house to me when we got divorced. But I have gotten to the conclusion, that I will sell it.”   
If she was amazed by his change in matters, she certainly didn't show it. She just smiled kindly.   
“It's your house, Jack. And I thought you would have sold it years ago.”   
He held her gaze, wondering just what she wasn't saying. But he didn't get around to inquiring, as the door was opened with the gentle politeness, that is reserved for good butlers.   
“Inspector, a call for you from a Constable Collins.”   
Jack was on his feet before the sentence was spoken, his heart hammering in his chest. What had Phryne gotten herself into now? He picked up the phone with shaky fingers.   
“Collins?”   
The Constable seemed also quite confused, he stumbled over his words, trying to explain.   
“Dottie, I mean, Miss Williams just called sir, she had a visit from her sister Nell, Lola sir, I think you remember her ,sir and she had a chat this morning with her friend, who works in one of Browning's brothels...”  
Detective Inspector Robinson started to lose patience.   
“Is there any point to this phone chain, Collins?”  
A moment the line was silent. Then Hugh seemed to have collected his thoughts enough to spill the beans.   
“Brad Browning has told one of his ladies last night, that he is intending to shoot the Deputy Commissioner. Today sir.”   
Jack's head was spinning. Surely the house of the Commissioner was guarded, but neither man would be looking for acute danger while sitting down for tea. He returned his attention to Hugh .   
„Collins listen. Give alarm. Send every available policeman to the Commissioners house, that's were Sanderson is right now. I'll try and warn them myself and then meet you there.”   
Jack slammed the phone back onto the receiver, feeling the presence of Rosie, who was standing in the door frame behind him. He didn't have time right now to explain. She would forgive him, if he saved her father's life first. He just tried to get a line to the Thomson's household established, when a loud rapping noise threatened to break down the door. A breathless, disheveled looking Phryne Fisher stormed past Mr. Bell, before he could gather his wits.   
“Jack?! I won't even ask what you are doing here. Where is the Deputy Commissioner? He needs to hear what I just found out. Commissioner Thomson is Elaine's father!


	13. A Time to Embrace

The red Hispano-Suiza shot through Melbourne's streets with screeching tyres. Jack held on for dear life, for once not bothering to complain. His hat had flown away somewhere in their wild dash down the driveway, framed by colouring leaves, whose beauty he didn't have time to appreciate.   
He threw a sideways look at Phryne's concentrated face. Her hat hadn't moved, probably due to being pinned to her hair with a months supply of needles. Anyone who drove like Phryne would make a habit of that. Jack tried to find a comfortable position in the leather seats of her car. One that didn't let his ribs ache. His stitches seemed not on their best behaviour either, they hurt more than he would have admitted to. But for no rest in the world he would have stayed home for this. Rage bubbled under his calm exterior like a red sticky sea. He had always hated crooked officers of the law from the depth of his heart. In Jack's book, policeman was a job like a priest or a doctor. You were meant to do it and you damn better do it well, if you chose to. If Commissioner Thomson was involved in the Browning Empire, and right now, everything pointed to that conclusion, that was an even bigger deceit to the Inspector, than giving order to shoot a policeman.   
The car flew around another corner, shaking the Inspector out of his musing.   
“Miss Fisher, slow down. There's people around here.”   
She huffed, but nevertheless braked off slightly, while they crossed a busy square, framed by market stalls and playing children. An unfortunate bike rider scrambled out of their path just in time, landing in the gutter, before they sped up again. They were only halfway down a busy street of little shops, when suddenly the car slowed down, to come almost to a complete halt. Before Jack could ask what was wrong, Phryne had hopped out and run to the bonnet with a string of swear words he didn't care to repeat. White smoke curled over the motor.   
“Great.” Phryne said. “It seems we have blown something. Sadly I am many things but not a mechanic. You wouldn't know how to work a motor, Jack?”   
She turned around, but the Inspector was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, she heard a motor roaring behind herself and seconds later, Jack stopped a Motorbike beside her.   
“Hurry up, Miss Fisher, we got no time to lose.”   
“You are a man of many surprises, Inspector”, the lady detective couldn't help but smirk, while she did as told and climbed behind him.   
“I do try, Miss Fisher. Hold on, this is going to be a fast ride”, he ordered.   
“Maybe not right there”, he corrected himself, as she snaked her left hand right over his healing wound.   
“You are also a man with many sensibilities”, his friends complained, removing her hand nevertheless to a spot on his chest, that hurt slightly less. He put his foot down and with a roar they were off again, her orange scarf fluttering in the wind behind them. 

X

“I believe in less than a year we could close down all establishments in High street, if we push this through, Arthur.”   
There was no answer beside the quiet ticking of the old grandfather clock. George Sanderson started to get irritated. His opposite didn't seem to quite listen today, even though he himself had initiated this private meeting to settle their differences. He took another bite of his scone, that he enjoyed a lot more than his conversation.   
“It's about time, those girls get some justice, don't you think?“, he tried again, once he had swallowed. To his surprise Arthur Thomson got up and walked over to the window, slightly drawing the curtain aside.   
„If it is inconvenient today, we can postpone this meeting“, the Deputy Commissioner offered, pushing his chair back himself. Thomson turned around, to the surprise of his visitor, sweat glistened on his forehead.   
„Oh, no. We should talk this through.”  
Sanderson stepped beside him, now starting to worry.   
“Are you feeling quite alright, Arthur? You don't look well, if you don't mind me saying so.”   
The Commissioner tried a smile and pulled the curtain back to it's usual position. Out of the corner of his eyes, Sanderson got a glimpse of two men who were escaping a black car down in the street.   
“I'm perfectly fine, George. Let's talk business, shall we?  
The Deputy Commissioner resisted the urge to point out that's that exactly what he had been doing for the last hour. Something was definitely off. 

X

Jack had to admit, if somewhat reluctantly, that he was rather enjoying himself. The wind breezing through his hair, Phryne's warmth in his back, buildings and trees flying past him at speed. He felt incredibly... alive, was the word to describe it. It didn't surprise him as much as it should have. Miss Fisher had the talent to drag everything and everyone around her along into her whirlwind style of living, daring them to overstep their boundaries and break their own rules. Jack Robinson wasn't a man who broke rules easily. And nevertheless he was sitting on a stolen Motorbike, with a beautiful, but totally insane woman clinging to his back, trying to save a man who would probably out rank him for the rest of his life.   
“You are smirking, Jack”, said a female voice incredibly close to his ear.   
“You must be imagining that, Miss Fisher.”   
Instead of an answer, he felt her moving position behind him and a gasp caught in his throat. If it was possible, she had moved herself closer to him. He felt her hands slip along his waistband.   
“What exactly are you intending to do there?”, he asked with a voice that sounded rather huskier, than he'd liked.   
“Nothing...”, whatever she had been trying, she had been successful, as he could feel her pull back, “...just getting this.” His pistol was flashed in the corner of his eyes.   
“That is a police weapon, Miss Fisher, and not a toy.”  
“I rather hope it isn't. I'm afraid I've left mine in the car. And there might arise the need to be armed.”   
Jack swallowed down an answer, as the Commissioners house appeared in the distance. It looked surprisingly undisturbed, save the uniformed man that sat beside the gate, rubbing his head with an astonished look on his face.   
“They knocked out the guard”, yelled Jack against the wind, while speeding up. Phrynes iron grip threatened to squeeze the breath out of his lungs, but he pushed his foot further down. With a maneuver that would have made a Rally driver proud, the Motorbike left the street and flew through the gate. Brad Browning, dressed appropriately in black, was marching towards the front door, flanked by a man in an equally dark suit.  
“Hold on”, Jack yelled, swinging the Bike right past them and bringing it to a screeching halt that sent gravel spraying. The two men, whose path had effectively been cut off by a blur of orange and grey, looked on in amazement, as the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher raised a gun and growled: “Hold it, police.”   
The tension was so thick it could've been cut with a knife. Inspector Robinson's eyes were drawn to the suspicious bulge in the Jacket of Brad's side kick. It might all be fun and games for Miss Fisher, but if he decided to pull that gun, there wouldn't be anyone walking alive. And despite his dead house and the missing sparkle in his eyes, the policeman was rather attached to his life. Suddenly, Brad Browning burst out laughing.   
“Is this a joke? It sure looks like one, lady.”   
The coldness in his eyes betrayed him. Jack felt Miss Fisher's hand let go off him. Without leaving the men a second out of her sight, she climbed off the bike, walking closer up to them.   
Helplessly the DI watched the scene play out in front of him. Why did she have to be so damn brave? Brave and dumb. For someone so clever, Phryne Fisher had an incredibly bad sense of danger, he concluded once again, as his eyes followed her threatening the biggest gangster boss of Melbourne with a gun that suddenly did look a lot like a toy to him.   
“I don't joke when it comes to murder”, she said in a voice that could have cut glass.   
'Don't provoke him, Phryne, please don't', Jack pleaded quietly, not daring to move. He heard sirens coming closer, it was only a matter of seconds, till Brad Browning wouldn't have any escape route left. The thought wasn't as comforting, as Jack had hoped. He knew men like Browning, they weren't particularly good at losing. And there Phryne stood, right in front of him, one pistol against two. The first police cars dashed around the corner and distracted the henchman for a second. Browning wasn't as easily disturbed, he used the chaos to let his hand fly to the pocket, inside his Jacket. In terror Jack watched the movement he knew too well. With a yell he dropped the bike, gripping Phryne by the shoulders to yank her away, just as Brad Browning's eyes rolled up into his skull and he dropped into an inelegant heap to the floor. The henchman that had turned his attention back to the fight, didn't manage to get his weapon either, as his private parts made intimate contact with Phryne Fisher's left knee. Gurgling, he collapsed beside his boss. Jack looked up at Collins, who with a broad grin was still holding his Baton in the air.   
„Well done Collins. Maybe now would be the time to arrest him“, gasped Jack, bending over and trying to catch his breath. He felt rather dizzy. The honorable Miss Phryne Fisher watched happily as a beaming with pride Hugh arrested Melbourne's most feared man. It would be a tale he would be telling for the rest of his life. Poor Dot.   
„What is going on out here?“   
George Sanderson appeared shortly after his voice, drawn out by the noise. Right behind him stepped out Commissioner Thomson, looking awfully disturbed.   
„George!“, Jack yelled, wrestling his pistol back from Phrynes unresisting hands, „Please step aside.“   
The Deputy Commissioner looked on in astonishment, as his former son-in-law raised his weapon in his direction. „Commissioner Thomson, I arrest you for trying to murder me.“


	14. A Time to Uproot

George Sandersons eyes flew from Robinson to the Commissioner, then back.   
„You cant be serious, Jack!“  
„I'm afraid he is, Georgey”, a familiar female voice cut in, “Our beloved Commissioner is actually Victor Browning's father-in-law”, Miss Fisher continued conversationally. “Well was, till he conspired with his daughter to kill him. And I dare say, he dabbled a bit in the family business, too, haven't you, Mr. Thomson?”   
The Commissioner had drained of all colour, sweat pouring now down his face.   
“You cannot prove any of your absurd accusations”, he screamed, a hint of hysteria in his voice.   
Sanderson turned to him, straightening his glasses in a nervous gesture.   
“Arthur, is this true?”   
“George, step away”, yelled Jack, still aiming his pistol at the Commissioner, who seemed close to a nervous break down.   
“Arthur?”   
Nobody could have told afterwards, where the weapon had come from. Events happened too fast for anyone to react. It appeared by magic in Commissioner Thomson's hand, as he grabbed his old colleague in a death grip, with his arm around his throat. George Sanderson let out a yelp of surprise, when he was pulled backwards, cold metal pressing to his head.   
„You can't prove anything...” yelled Thomson, tipping ever closer to insanity. Jack stared on in horror, till he felt Phryne's hand gently push down his arm. He nodded understanding.   
“Thomson, stop. We can talk about it. Look, I'm putting it down.” Slowly, he dropped the gun to the ground.   
“Everybody else, too”, screeched Thomson, tightening his grip around Sanderson's neck. Around 20 more weapons hit the gravel.   
„Arthur, please“, gasped his hostage, „we've known each other for 25 years...“   
„Oh shut up. You and your bloody morals have been getting on my nerves for the last 24. Always on the right side of the law, do the right thing, blablabla. Justice is an old wives' tale, Sanderson. There is no right and wrong, just a gun and a head it's aimed at.“   
The words were acompanied by a wild wave of said gun through the air. Phryne could see the sudden hit of rage on the Deputy Commissioners face. With a manouvre his opponent hadn't expected, he swirled around, kicking his opponent against the shin, grabbing for his gun arm. 20 policeman watched on in amazement, as their two chiefs tangled up into a struggle like two five year old girls, with the deathly addition of a still loaded weapon. Jack Robinson was the first to find his wits. He threw himself into the action, trying to wrestle the pistol from the Commissioners sweaty hands. After a moments thought, Miss Fisher picked up his gun and followed him, even though it didn't seem to her like Thomson would see enough reason anymore to stop on his own accord. The knot of man untangled only for a second to spit out Jack, who had taken a punch to the gut by someones elbow and stumbled backwards against the wall. In the same second, a loud noise ripped through the air, leaving Phryne temporarily deaf. Time seemed to slow down. Commissioner Thomson collapsed, still holding the pistol, his face whiter than white to his knees, followed by Sanderson, who had blood dripping of his hands. Both men tried to catch their breath, as Phryne scrambled to their sides. “Georgey, are you alright?”   
Sanderson stared at his hands as if he would see them the first time.   
“Fine Miss Fisher, never been better.”   
He tried a smile, that didn't quite work out as hoped. Only now Phryne realised that Thomson was clutching at his thigh, blood spilling out between his fingers.   
“Hugh?”, she yelled.   
“Yes, Miss Fisher.”   
“When you're done gaping, could you please organise a doctor? I would like to see this man hang, rather than bleed to death.”   
Only after the Colonel had hurried off, the rest of the policeman seemed to unfreeze. Suddenly the lady detective found herself in a chaos of men trying to arrest the Commissioner. She turned around, looking for a familiar face. Jack was leaning pale and panting against the wall. In an instant she was by his side.   
“Jack?”   
He had his palm pressed firmly against the left side of his abdomen. Phryne pried his hand away with a sense of terror. Blood was sticking to the Inspectors fingers. It also had started to form a black spot on his grey suit.   
“I think...I think I might have popped some stitches”, he panted.   
“Jack, don't you dare doing this to me again”, was the last he heard, before Detective Inspector Robinson passed out. 

X  
Autumn sun fell onto his closed lashes and the wind swept in the smell of the sea. He felt her presence, the quiet swish of her skirt, as she moved along his bed side, before sitting down. Jack ripped his eyes open and let out the breath, he had been holding.   
“You know”, said Phryne Fisher conversationally, “if you keep the whole collapsing thing up, I will have to start carrying smelling salts. And I really don't have room for those with my pistol.”   
She went on, without waiting for an answer, which was fortunate, since Jack really couldn't think of one.   
“Mac assures me however, that besides a few popped stitches, you are just fine. Your body just shut you down, since you were too stubborn to do it yourself.”   
Jack pulled himself up, becoming aware of his surroundings, including the fact, that he was in a state of undress he didn't wish to investigate any further.   
“Miss Fisher, is it possible, that I am in your bedroom?”   
She just shrugged apologetically.   
“It was the closest to the stairs. I'm afraid Mr. Butler suffers of a rather bad back.”   
With a look to his face she continued:   
“Don't worry Jack, I have not compromised you, while you were asleep. Even though the thought might have crossed my mind.”   
She smirked and once again, he wasn't quite sure if he should believe her to be serious.   
“In fact”, she said, stretching her legs out in front of her, as he didn't answer, “I have been rather busy while you were out cold.”   
„So who have you gotten into troubles this time, Miss Fisher?”   
His voice sounded rough, even to his own ears and the fact that he was mostly covered by her sheets, currently didn't help Jacks abilities to hold a normal conversation. That however didn't seem to disturb her much, as she continued to tell him the news.   
“I have seen Sanderson about Amber. Could talk him into letting her go without charge. Since she is quite responsible for the fact your still with us, that seemed only fair.”   
Jack Robinson nodded. The girl had, in a strange way, grown on him how only someone can, you meet in a state of absolute terror.   
“What about Mr. Barazov?”, he asked, trying to find a comfortable position while pulling the sheets up to his neck.   
“He is likely gonna go to prison. However, he got quite chatty after Amber left. I think he has a bit of a crush on her.”   
Phryne gave the struggling Jack a bemused look. “Sorry about your suit. It was quite stained. Dot is currently trying to save it.”   
“That's alright, Miss Fisher, I wasn't that attached to it.”  
She looked at him for a moment longer than was strictly comfortable.   
„You were saying?“, he encouraged her. She snapped back into her story.   
„Ah yes, our friend Vlady got very chatty and has admitted to having transported Victor Browning's body to the alleyway, making a Swiss cheese of him and also disposing for some reason of his shoe, since he was “disgusted by the blood”.”  
“A real criminal mastermind, our Mr. Bazarov”, threw the Inspector in dryly.   
“Maybe not the brightest bulb in the box. However he has made a statement, that he has been ordered to do so by Elaine Browning, who was obviously not quite happy with Ambers handy work.”   
While talking, Miss Fisher had started to drape herself onto the bed, in a state of habit. Jack gulped hard.   
“Well I guess it would have disturbed her plan to dispose of her husband in silence.”   
“So it seems. Anyway, from the look of it, both Browning's will go down. They are now starting to point fingers at each other. Brad isn't particularly amused about his own family killing Victor.”   
Jack sat up in bed, temporarily forgetting his missing clothes.   
“I still can't quite wrap my head around Commissioner Thomson's involvement. And why wouldn't he have gotten rid of the evidence a long time ago?”  
„Well a bit of money effectively saved his career back in the day. And that probably would have been the end of that, if his little girl hadn't decided to get involved with one of the rising stars of Melbourne's underworld. It was tempting. Not every policeman is a straight as you, Jack.“   
He cleared his throat, feeling himself blush slightly.   
“However, Victor turned out to be a bit of a lose cannon. After he killed Lewis Walters with his own hands, he became too much of a problem. How did you know, by the way?”   
“Know what?“  
„That Browning killed Lewis?“   
„One of the lads spilled it to me, behind closed doors. Victor had been a suspect, but police was 'shaking in their booties' too much, to arrest him. I was looking for a connection, any connection, but couldn't find anything.”   
“Well, one of Thomson's henchmen obviously thought you were cleverer than you were.”  
His bed partner curled her lips into a cheeky smile.   
“You say the nicest things, Miss Fisher”, the Inspector parried, charm dripping off his voice. A knock at the door disturbed their quiet wrap up of the case. Dot shoved her head into the gap. Heat rising to his face, the Detective Inspector ripped his blanket up to hide as best he could.   
„Just bringing the suit, Miss. I managed to get the blood out. It's as good as new”, the companion said, blushing furiously, while trying to keep the grey suit between herself and the direct view to the bed.   
“Thank you, Dot.”   
With lightning speed, Dorothy spun around and was almost out the door, when she realised, that she had forgotten something.   
“Oh, and the Deputy Commissioner is on the phone for you, Miss.”   
Phryne nodded. „I will be right down.“  
Jack watched her intently.   
„Do I assume correct, Miss Fisher, that Miss Williams wasn't quite aware of my lack of clothes?“ He asked. Phryne shrugged.   
„She will have to get used to the view of naked men someday.“   
The Inspector bit back a grin. It faded quickly, as he watched her, slowly, like a content cat, peeling herself of the sheets.  
„I will leave you to get dressed Jack, before you start crawling under the bed“, she grinned pointedly and pulled the bedroom door shut behind herself. The Detective Inspector let the breath escape, he hadn't been aware he was holding, and slipped out of bed. He became increasingly aware that he needed to get out of this room before he did something he would regret.


	15. A Time to Dance

Jack managed to slip into his pants, before the door was ripped open unceremoniously. In walked Miss Fisher, seemingly without taking any notice of the half naked man in her bedroom.   
„I believe congratulations are in order, Jack. Your father-in-law has just been appointed the new Commissioner. As it seems, our little adventure did help him stumble up the career ladder somewhat.“   
She sat down at the edge of the bed, swinging one leg over the other, facing Jack, who was wriggling into his shirt,while trying hard not to look at her.   
„Of course, it might have helped, that his predecessor is going away for a very long time“, she purred. The Inspector was sure, she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He gave her a look, that if it might not have killed, at least would have smacked her over the head somewhat harshly.  
„I offered to have a little celebration tonight, just family“ She continued completely unfazed. “I'm afraid though, your wife will be there, too.”   
Jack, who had finally finished closing his belt, looked up. She stared at him, her red lips lightly opened. It was a provocation. He took the bait.   
“Miss Fisher, you still seem rather confused about my marital status. What do I have to do, to convince you that I am quite divorced?”  
She pretended to ponder.   
“It probably would help, if you took the pictures of your wife off your bedroom walls” She offered with a grin, slipping to her feet and closing the gap between them. Jack gulped, as she started to button up his shirt, looking up at him.   
“So it was you, disturbing the dust in my bedroom.”  
“I was looking for clues as to your whereabouts” She said, her fingers slipping over the fabric easily.   
“Behind a picture?”  
“They could have been anywhere” She pointed out with an innocent smile.   
The heat radiating from her body drove him insane. He cleared his throat.   
“Then you will be pleased to hear, Miss Fisher, that I intend to sell said photograph together with the wall it's hanging on. I think it's antiquity might raise the prize somewhat.”  
Now it was Miss Fishers turn to be surprised.   
“You are selling your house? Why? Where will you stay?”   
He used her astonishment to gently pried her fingers from his neck.   
“Probably in some place more suited to an aging bachelor”, was his simple answer, while he  
was still painfully aware of just how close she was standing.   
“You know you're always welcome here”, Miss Fisher stated matter of fact. The Inspector realised that his own surprise was mirrored by her face. Obviously even Phryne Fisher didn't always think before she talked. An uncomfortable silence settled between them.   
“I better go” he said finally, slipping into his coat. He made it almost to the door, before she answered.   
“You don't have to, Jack.”   
Her voice was serious, her head slightly tipped. To his astonishment, she was pleading with him and he was tempted. But Jack Robinson could also sense the danger. If he stayed, he would tumble over the edge and he wasn't sure if he could survive that. Nevertheless, he had stopped cold.   
“This is not a good idea” He heard himself say, lowering his eyes to the floor. His legs didn't move.   
“Jack?”  
Miss Fisher closed the gap without letting him out of her sight. In the silence, Jack could hear his blood rush through his veins.   
“Thank you.” He finally said quietly. “Thank you, for coming for me. I wasn't sure if you would.”   
He looked up. The expression on her face was such as if he had slapped her.   
“Is this really what you think of me? That I could have left you to die?”   
The pain in her eyes was obvious. Once again Jack struggled for words. How could she have gotten him so wrong?   
“I made myself very clear that night” He whispered.   
“But I care for you, Jack. No matter what you say, you can't stop me from caring for you.”   
Tears glistened in Miss Fisher's eyes. Jack felt himself be swept up by her sadness. A picture haunted him once again. This time he didn't hesitate. He held his breath as his own rough hand found her cheek, touched the warmth of her skin. To his endless amazement she leaned into his embrace. Gently he wiped a warm, salty drop away. It was just as he had seen it in his dream. What he hadn't dreamed were her fingers, that weaved into his hair, pulling him closer until their lips brushed together in the lightest of touches. It was hardly more than the flap of the wing of a butterfly, a fleeting sensation, but nevertheless it took his breath away. With closed eyes he stood, trying to regain his senses. He didn't dare to open his lashes, as he brought his lips down on hers again, pulling her warm body against his own. It seemed like a dream that could dissolve in the blink of an eye. Half he feared to wake up in a basement, shivering in a fever dream. But she was real. So, so real. Jack savoured her taste, relished the warmth that seeped through the fine fabric of her blouse. It was intoxicating and if he would hold her only this once, he was determined to commit every single sensation to his memories.   
How, he wasn't sure, but when he returned to the earth, he was lying in a pool of soft pillows, with the warm weight of a lady detective on top of him. Jack tried to fight back the rising panic in his guts. He couldn't do this! Not in this room, haunted by the memories of so many men and definitely, definitely not with her. Gently he pushed Phryne away, trying to find an excuse, anything to make his reluctance understandable. He settled for blaming his battle wounds. Surely he was not yet deemed fit for this kind of action. Just as he opened his mouth to explain, she looked at him, understanding dawning on her face. He couldn't help but realise, just how beautiful she was.   
“Shhh”, she murmured, closing his mouth with the softest of kisses. “I won't hurt you.”   
Her voice was no more than a whisper near his ear. The policeman in DI Robinson wanted to question this, wanted to know if she meant his bruised and battered body or his equally battered heart. But then she ran a soft hand down the front of his shirt, lingered just that second too long where his heart was hammering in his chest and Jack was gone. He surrendered. It had been a long, tough battle and giving up, giving in, held as much relieve as it held agony.   
He couldn't do anything but watch as Phryne started to unbutton his clothes, peeling with gentle hands away, layer by layer, his shields and protective walls, till nothing was left of him but his soul. And even though he shivered with the intensity of it, he realised to his surprise, that he wasn't scared.   
It occurred to him briefly, that it wasn't as he had envisioned it. Jack Robinson had expected it to be a wild, messy explosion of passions, when, not so much if, he would finally lose his battle against his attraction to the Honourable Miss Fisher. Instead he found his aching muscles melt into her touch like warm butter, in total silence. Both were too enthralled by exploring each others bodies and souls to even utter a moan. Their gazes locked and while Phryne could see the lust, that she was so familiar with, there was also a tenderness in his dark eyes that took her by surprise. It made her feel bare in a way that had little to do with her current state of dress or rather undress. She had felt it once before, she realised. A gentle thumb running down her throat to her neckline, took her back into the here and now. Jack wasn't Rene. Where Dubois had used her vulnerability to make her weak, bend her to his will, being vulnerable to Jack made her feel invincible. Like they could take on the world together. And while Phryne didn't know if this would change how he felt, if she would scare him away forever, the hitch in his breath as she moved, was worth the pain she might bring down on herself.   
She'd never realised just how much she wanted to unwind him, feel him quiver under her hands and chase his ghosts back into the shadows they had come from. It was a liberating experience, even more so than racing a motor bike through the streets of Melbourne in pursuit of a murderer -  
if only just.   
Jack noticed the smile that stole over her face and answered with an arched eyebrow. Phryne leaned down to kiss the questions away. She would tell him later, much, much later. Right now, nothing mattered but him, his warm skin under her fingers and his hands, fitting perfectly onto her body.   
When Jack lay awake later, listening to Phryne's quiet breathing while watching the sunspots fluttering over her bedroom walls and searching his heart in vain for any hints of regret, he wondered briefly, if against all better judgement, he might have stumbled into heaven after all. 

X

Miss Fisher awoke long after sunset. Quiet music reached her bedroom from downstairs, obviously someone had decided to start on the celebrations without the hostess. How considerate of them. She smiled into the darkness. Jack's smell was still lingering in her pillows and chased her fear away that she might have been only dreaming their afternoon delight. It had been way to enjoyable for that. Phryne stretched her sated muscles and turned around. Then her heart sank. The crumpled sheets were cold. Jack was gone. 

She found him outside, sitting on the stairs of her veranda, smoking a cigarette.   
“I didn't know you smoked.”  
He didn't look up.   
“It would be a wrong to assume you have me figured out, just yet, Miss Fisher.”   
“So it seems.”   
She slipped onto the stairs beside him, with little regard to her light blue dress, that would doubtlessly get stained and plucked the cigarette from his fingers, before he could protest.   
“I believe your... former wife is dancing with Cec,” she stated. “Seems to be rather enjoying herself.”  
“Is she now?”, he smiled, watching the little point of light in the darkness. The moon dipped the garden into silvery light, over which a dark night sky glittered. An owl almost missed its branch and had to go for a crash landing. Inside there was laughter. A drunken Hugh had obviously said something silly and gotten his answer from Dottie.   
“So what now, Jack?” Phryne asked after a while of silence.   
“In what regard, Miss Fisher?”   
“Well, you have single-handedly brought down the underworld of Melbourne. We might be out of jobs from tomorrow on.”  
He smirked into the night and took his cigarette back.   
“My mother always said, there was a time for everything. A time for war and a time for peace.”   
He looked at her sideways, caught her gaze.   
“A time to love?” She asked, her voice unreadable.   
“Sometimes even that, Miss Fisher.”   
He took the last puff, before rubbing the cigarette out on the stones. Phryne Fisher stood up.   
“You know what, Jack? It's definitely a time to dance.” She extended her hand. He listened to the rhythm of the music for a moment, his forehead creasing in concentration.   
“I'm afraid I don't dance tango.”   
He took her hand nevertheless.   
“We will have to settle for a waltz then, won't we?”, she smirked and pulled him off the stairs. Inspector Robinson let himself be dragged inside to dance. It wasn't like he'd ever really had a choice.


	16. Epilogue

She didn't look up from her book when she heard the polite knock at the front door, but the smile deceived her. Mr. Butler had given up on announcing the Inspector or even showing him to the Salon. There was a time and a place, when every servant had to be a human being and give two lovers some room. With a quiet grin the very human Mr. Butler took himself to bed and left Jack standing in the hall alone. Still holding his hat he looked around the corner, caught her pretending to be engrossed in a novel. He knew that she would never admit she had been waiting for him, but the Inspector didn't mind. In faux surprise she looked up.   
“Jack?!”  
He kissed her on the forehead and sat down in the chair beside her, his gaze lingering for a split second on the book.   
“I believe, Miss Fisher, you have been reading the very same page when I came yesterday.”   
“You must be mistaken, Inspector.” She parried, without missing a beat. “How was your day?”  
He thought about this.   
“Tiring. Boring. And way, way too long.”   
“No murder?”   
“You know as well as me, Phryne, that you wouldn't have been sitting here pretending to read if there was in fact a body in my morgue.”   
“I fear you know me too well, Jack.” She said thoughtfully, while getting up to pour him a Martini. Jacks heart stopped mid beat. He had been dreading the day she would come to this conclusion. He, in a way had always known, that she was likely going to break his heart eventually. It was a chance he had taken willingly when he had decided to dance with her. When he'd let himself be seduced into spending the night. When he'd found himself knocking onto her door again the next day. The truth was, he couldn't stop himself. Jack wasn't sure what she thought about their arrangement and as much at it pained him, he didn't dare asking. He knew she hadn't had any other lovers lately. He would have smelled them in her house, noticed it in her smile, he always had. And Phryne Fisher would have to be bored out of her mind with only the one man to choose from. He swallowed hard, watching her trouser clad legs walking back over to him.   
She extended her hand, holding a glass with a light liquid. He accepted the drink and her decision to run soft fingers through his hair. His dark eyes swept up her beautiful figure, till he looked directly into hers. So this was the time she would let him down easy. He emptied the glass in a single gulp and set it down beside himself. Part of him wanted to flee, leave this room, this house, before she could ask him to go. But he stayed. Searched her face for the lines he was dreading. Waited.   
„Are you alright, Jack?“  
That was not the sentense he had been waiting for.   
„Of course. I better get going home though.“   
He helped his suddenly heavy body out of the chair with both hands. His wounds had been healing perfectly fine, but sometimes his stomach still ached.  
„Actually Jack, that was something I wanted to talk about.“ He heared her say before she pushed him gently back down. Right, so no escape.   
Before he knew what was happening he found her sitting down on his knee, glass still in hand. For letting him down easy she was making this awfully hard on him.   
„I know you still have your house on the market and it might turn out quite challenging to sell, given the current financial strain. But I thought...“. He had been waiting for the blow with his eyes half closed, now he looked up. Where the hell was this going?   
“...the offer is still open, Jack. You are here an awful lot, why make this any more inconvenient than it has to be?”   
The Inspector stayed silent. Mostly because he currently didn't have any breath in his lungs to speak.   
“Don't look at me like I had two heads, Jack. I didn't offer you a poisonous apple, only your own bed.” She leaned closer, her smell threatening to overwhelm him with longing and whispered in his ear. “And the possibility to sneak into mine if you choose to.”   
Jack had to clear his throat before he found himself able to utter words again.   
“Miss Fisher, are you in fact offering me an immoral arrangement? Whatever will your companion say? She is very catholic.”   
Phryne smiled.   
“I fear Dot has accepted me for the sinful woman I am.”   
The lady detectives watchful eye didn't miss the pained look ghosting over Jack's face for the split of a second. She didn't quite understand. Inspector Robinson had snuck into her life, bit by bit, from the day they had met. From the annoying policeman he had turned into a partner, a friend and finally her lover. But still she could not manage to pry him out of his shields for more than an hour at a time. He would come to her, drink her Whisky and enjoy their conversation, often share her bed, but he'd insist on going home afterwards, sneak out in the dawn as if he was a stray cat who had drunk forbidden milk. And she was starting to get frustrated by waking up alone in cold sheets after nights filled with love and passion. And what depressed her even more, was that she was scared. It had been a long time since she had been worried about any mans inner thoughts. But Jack wasn't any man. She's had a taste once of how it would feel to not have him in her life anymore. It wasn't something she would ever desire to repeat.   
She awoke from her musing to catch him watching her with intense, dark eyes. Phryne couldn't resist to extend her hand and run her fingers through his soft hair once again. His neat look got slightly dishevelled in the process, a fact that added to the pleasure of this simple little motion. His eyes spoke a lot more than his lips tonight and she could see the faintest hint of the tenderness he reserved for their most intimate moments. Gently she let her hand slide down his cheek, run over the slight stubble the long day had left on his skin. How she loved to feel him. She lingered, holding his face framed with her hand and wondered what else she could find in his eyes. Maybe here was the answers that she could not seem to tear from him.   
He took her hand and brushed a kiss to her fingertips, not leaving her out of his sight. It was this tiny, gentle gestures that kept her hopes alive.   
“Jack?”  
He nodded, barely visible.   
“Why won't you take up my offer? You know your welcome here.”   
To her disappointment he dropped his gaze, broke their contact. Phryne was close to getting up and giving him the space that he so obviously asked for when he finally found his voice again.   
“Because I fear, Miss Fisher, I will not leave again.”   
A smile snuck around Phryne's red lips as she leaned forward to finally kiss him. She felt his surprise, but also how he let a breath go he had been holding. He was scared. Suddenly, she was astonished how she hadn't realised it. He was just as frightened as herself. An involuntary groan escaped his throat as she pressed a soft kiss to the tender skin of his neck and whispered.   
“I wouldn't hope so.”


End file.
